//  .: 


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MADCAP   VIOLET. 


31  Notjcl. 


By  WILLIAM  BLACK, 

AUTHOR  OF 

'THE   STRANGE   ADVENTURES  OF  A   PHAETON,"  "A  PRINCESS  OF  THULE," 

"THE   MONARCH  OF  MINCING -LANE,"  "KILMENY," 

"A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH,"  &C. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 

18  7  7. 


William    Black's    Novels. 


MADCAP    VIOLET.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents;   Library   Edition,  i2mo, 

Cloth,  $1  50. 
THREE  FEATHERS.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  $1  00;  Cloth,  $1  50. 
A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
A  PRINCESS  OF  THULE.    8vo,  Paper,  75  cents;  Library  Edition, 

i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 
IN  SILK  A  TTIRE.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
KILMENY.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
THE  MAID  OF  KILLEEXA,  THE  MARRIAGE   OF  MOIRA 

FERGUS,  and  Other  Stories.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
THE  MONARCH  OF  MINCING-LANE.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper, 

50  cents. 
THE    STRANGE    ADVENTURES    OF  A    PHAETON.      8vo, 
Paper,  75  cents.  

Published  bv  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

C3?"  Either  0/ above  volumes  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  0/  U.  S.  or  Canada,  on  receipt  0/  price. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TA8E 
"  YOU    DETIL  !" 9 


CHAPTER  II. 

CARPE    DIEM 14 

CHAPTER  III. 

A    SUBURBAN   PHILOSOPHER 22 

CHAPTER  IV. 

FLUTTERINGS   NEAR   THE   FLAME 31 

CHAPTER  V. 

SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES 46 

CHAPTER  VI. 

CRABBED   AGE   AND    YOUTH 67 


4  CONTEXTS. 

CHATTER  VII. 

FAQF. 
A    SUMMER   DAY'S   RIDE C5 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

INGLAND,    FAREWELL  ! 84 

CHAPTER  IX. 

CCELUM    NON    AMMCM 88 

CHAPTER  X. 

A   MESSAGE   DOME 01 

CHAPTER  XI. 

HOME 103 

CHAPTER  XII. 

WALPURGIS-NIGHT 114 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

FIRE    AND   WATER 128 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  LIKE   GETTING    HOME    AGAIN  " 134 

CHAPTER  XV. 

MISTAKEN   GCESSE3 142 


CONTENTS.  b 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PAGE 
AMONG   SOME   PICTURES 154 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

FROM   NORTH   TO   SOUTH 164 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CASTLE    BANDBOX,    N.  B 169 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

ABRA 189 

CHAPTER  XX. 

SETTING   OUT 195 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  RAIN,   WIND,   AND    SPEED  " 202 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    MAGIC   MERGANSER 210 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
a  crisis 228 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LOVE   WENT   A-SAILING 238 


0  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

PAGE 
FOREBODINGS 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
LOCH  CORCISK 258 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

UNDER   THE    BLACK   CUCHCLLINS 265 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CROSS-CURRENTS 268 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOMEWARD   BOUND 280 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

CHALLENGED 292 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  FAREWELL  !     FAREWELL  !" 300 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN    LONDON 306 

CHAPTER  XXXIU. 

THE    LAURELS    AT    WOMBLEY    FLAT 318 


CONTENTS.  7 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PAGE 
AN   ENCOUNTER 328 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

TIDINGS 335 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IN   A   THEATRE 341 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN    EPITAPH 347 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

PREPARATIONS   FOR  FLIGHT 354 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"  SOUL   TO   SOUL  !" 368 

CHAPTER  XL. 

UNINVITED   GUESTS 372 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

A   BRINGER   OF   ETIL 381 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

REPENTANCE 388 


8  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

PAGK 
AT   LAST  ! „ 4U0 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

JOY    AND    FEAR 408 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

"  O   GENTLE    WIND    THAT    BLOWETII    SOUTH  I" 412 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 
hope's  wings o 418 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 
DU  SCHMERZENSREICHE  ! 425 


MADCAP    VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"you     devil!" 

There  was  a  great  silence  in  the  school-room.  A  young  girl 
of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  tall  and  strikingly  handsome  in  figure, 
with  abundant  masses  of  raven-black  hair,  dark  eyes  under  dark- 
er eyelashes,  and  proud  and  well-cut  lips,  walked  up  to  the  school- 
mistress's table.  There  was  scarcely  any  thing  of  malice  or  mis* 
chief  visible  in  the  bold  carelessness  of  her  face. 

The  school  -  mistress  looked  up  from  some  accounts  she  had 
been  studying. 

"  Well,  Miss  North  ?"  she  said,  with  marked  surprise. 

"  I  have  a  question  to  ask,  if  you  please,  Miss  Main,"  said  the 
handsome  young  lady,  with  great  coolness  and  deliberation  (and 
all  the  school  was  now  listening  intently).  "  I  wish  to  ask  what 
sort  of  society  we  are  expected  to  meet  when  we  go  abroad,  and 
whether  foreigners  are  in  the  habit  of  using  language  which  is 
not  usually  applied  to  ladies  in  this  country.  Half  an  hour  ago, 
when  we  were  having  our  German  conversation  with  Dr.  Siedl,  he 
made  use  of  a  very  odd  phrase,  and  I  believe  it  was  addressed  to 
me.  He  said, '  You  devil !'  I  only  wish  to  ask,  Miss  Main,  wheth- 
er we  must  be  prepared  to  hear  such  phrases  in  the  conversation 
of  foreigners." 

The  school-mistress's  thin,  gray,  care-worn  face  grew  red  with 
mortification.  Yet,  what  could  she  do  ?  There  was  nothing 
openly  rebellious  in  the  demeanor  of  this  incorrigible  girl — noth- 
ing, indeed,  but  a  cool  impertinence,  which  was  outwardly  most 
respectful. 

1* 


10  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  You  may  return  to  your  seat,  Miss  North,"  she  said,  rising. 
"  I  will  inquire  into  this  matter  at  once." 

Miss  Main,  who  was  the  proprietor  as  well  as  the  head-mistress 
of  the  school,  was  greatly  perturbed  by  this  incident;  and  she 
was  quite  nervous  and  excited  when  she  went  into  the  room  where 
the  German  master  still  sat,  correcting  some  exercises.  "When  he 
saw  her  enter,  he  rose  at  once ;  lie  guessed  from  her  manner  what 
had  happened.  The  young  man  in  the  shabby  clothes  was  even 
more  excited  than  she  was;  and  why  J  Because,  two  years  be- 
fore, he  had  left  his  home  in  the  old-fashioned  little  fortress  of 
Neissc,  in  Silesia,  and  he  had  bid  good-bye  then  to  a  young  girl 
whom  he  hoped  to  make  his  wife.  England  was  a  rich  coun- 
try. A  few  years  of  absence  would  put  money  in  his  pocket ; 
and  he  would  return  with  a  good  English  pronunciation,  which 
would  be  of  value.  So  he  came  to  England ;  but.  he  did  not  find 
the  streets  paved  with  gold.  It  was  after  long  waiting  that  he 
got  his  first  appointment ;  and  that  appointment  was  the  German 
mastership  at  Miss  Main's  school.  At  the  present  moment  he 
believed  he  had  forfeited  this  one  chance. 

He  came  forward  to  her ;  and  she  might  have  seen  that  there 
was  something  very  like  tears  in  his  pale-blue  eyes. 

"  Yes,  she  has  told  you,  and  it  is  quite  true,"  said  he,  throwing 
out  his  hands.  "  What  can  I  say  ?  But,  if  you  will  forgif  it,  I 
will  apolochise  to  her — I  was  mad — I  do  not  know  how  I  haf 
said  soch  a  ting  to  a  young  lady;  but  I  will  apolochise  to  her, 
Meess  Main — " 

Miss  Main  had  pulled  herself  together  by  this  time. 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  her,  Dr.  Siedl,"  said 
she,  in  a  sort  of  despairing  way.  "  I  have  no  doubt  she  irritated 
you  beyond  endurance ;  and  although  I  am  afraid  you  must  apol- 
ogize to  her,  I  can  quite  understand  how  you  were  maddened  by 
her.  Sometimes  I  do  think  she  is  a  devil — that  she  has  no  human 
soul  in  her.  She  thinks  of  nothing  but  mischief  from  morning 
till  night ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  she  leads  the  whole  school 
into  mischief;  for  all  the  girls  appear  to  be  fascinated  by  her,  and 
will  do  any  thing  she  asks.  I  don't  understand  it.  You  know 
how  often  I  have  threatened  her  with  expulsion  :  she  does  not 
mind.  Sometimes  I  think  I  must  really  get  rid  of  her;  for  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  preserve  the  discipline  of  the  school  while 
she  is  in  it." 


"  YOU    DEVIL  !"  11 

The  German  master  was  so  overjoyed  to  find  his  own  position 
secured,  and  his  offense  practically  condoned,  that  he  grew  gen- 
erous. 

"  And  she  is  so  clafer,"  said  he. 

"  Clever  ?"  repeated  the  school-mistress.  "  During  the  whole 
of  my  twenty-five  years'  experience  in  schools,  I  have  never  seen 
a  scholar  to  equal  her.  There  is  nothing  she  can  not  do  when 
she  takes  it  into  her  head  to  do  it.  You  saw  how  she  ran  up  her 
marks  in  French  and  German  last  term — and  almost  at  the  end  of 
the  term — merely  because  she  had  a  spite  against  Miss  Wolf,  and 
was  determined  she  should  not  have  the  two  prizes  that  she  ex- 
pected. And  that  is  another  part  of  the  mischief  she  does. 
Whenever  she  takes  a  special  liking  to  a  girl,  she  does  her  exer- 
cises for  her  in  the  evening.  It  costs  her  no  trouble ;  and  then 
she  has  them  ready  to  go  with  her  in  every  frolic.  I  am  sure  I 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  her." 

The  school-mistress  sighed. 

"  You  see,"  she  added,  with  a  frank  honesty,  "  it  is  naturally  a 
great  thing  for  a  school  like  mine  to  have  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Acton  North  in  it.  Every  body  has  heard  of  him ;  then  the  girls 
go  home  and  tell  their  mothers  that  a  daughter  of  Lady  North  is 
at  our  school ;  then  the  mothers — you  know  what  some  people 
are — talk  of  that  to  their  friends,  and  speak  of  Lady  North  as  if 
they  had  known  her  all  their  lives.  I  do  not  know  Lady  North 
myself,  but  I  am  sure  she  is  a  wise  woman  not  to  have  this  girl 
in  the  same  house  with  her." 

After  a  few  words  more,  Miss  Main  went  back  to  the  school- 
room ;  and  we  must  do  likewise,  to  narrate  all  that  befell  in  her 
absence.  First  of  all,  it  was  the  invidious  duty  of  a  small,  fair- 
haired,  gentle-eyed  girl,  called  Amy  Warrener,  to  take  a  slate  and 
write  down  on  it  the  names  of  any  of  her  companions  who  spoke 
while  Miss  Main  was  out  of  the  room,  failing  to  do  which  she  was 
deprived  of  her  marks  for  the  day.  Now,  on  this  occasion,  a 
pretty  considerable  tumult  arose,  and  the  little  girl,  looking  fright- 
ened, and  pretty  nearly  ready  to  cry,  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

"  Yes,  you  mean,  spiteful  little  thing !"  cried  a  big,  fat,  roseate 
girl,  called  Georgina  Wolf,  "  put  down  all  our  names,  do  !  I've 
a  good  mind  to  box  your  ears  !" 

She  menaced  the  little  girl,  but  only  for  a  brief  second.  With 
a  rapid  "Have  you  really?"  another  young  lady — the  tallest  in 


12  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

the  school — appeared  on  the  scene;  and  Miss  Wolf  received  a 
ringing  slap  on  the  side  of  her  head,  which  made  her  jump  back, 
shrieking.     The  school  was  awe-struck.     Never  had  such  a  thing 

occurred  before.  But  presently  one  girl  laughed,  then  another; 
then  there  was  a  general  titter  over  Mi->  Wolfs  alarm  and  dis- 
comfiture; during  which  the  tall  young  lady  called  out, 

"Amy  Warrener,  yut  us  all  down,  and  me  at  the  head;  for  we 
are  going  to  have  a  little  amusement.  Young  ladies,  shall  I  de- 
liver a  lecture  to  you  on  Old  Calabar  and  our  sewing-class  \ 
Young  ladies,  shall  we  have  a  little  music  :" 

She  had  suddenly  assumed  the  prim  demeanor  of  Miss  Main. 
With  great  gravity  Bhe  walked  over  to  the  door,  locked  it,  and 
put  the  key  in  her  pocket.  Then  she  went  to  her  own  desk, 
smuggled  something  into  a  light  shawl,  and  proceeded  to  the 
mistress's  table,  behind  which  she  took  her  stand. 

"  Young  ladies,"  she  said,  pretending  to  look  at  them  through 
an  imaginary  pair  of  eyeglasses,  "  you  are  aware  that  it  is  the 
shocking  practice  of  the  little  boys  and  girls  in  many  districts  of 
Africa  to  go  about  without  clothes ;  and  you  are  aware  of  the 
Camberwell  Society  for  helping  the  missionaries  to  take  out  a 
few  garments  to  these  poor  little  things.  Now,  my  dears,  it  is  a 
useful  thing  for  a  seminary  like  mine  to  gain  a  reputation  for  be- 
ing charitable ;  and  if  we  manage  among  ourselves  to  send  from 
month  to  month  parcels  of  beautifully  sewed  garments,  every  one 
must  get  to  know  how  well  I  teach  you,  my  dears,  to  handle 
your  needle.  But  then,  my  dears,  you  must  not  all  expect  to 
join  in  this  good  work.  You  all  get  the  credit  of  being  chari- 
table ;  but  some  of  you  are  not  so  smart  with  your  needle  as  oth- 
ers ;  and  so  I  think  it  better  to  have  the  sewing  of  these  garments 
intrusted  to  one  or  two  of  you,  who  ought  to  feel  proud  of  the 
distinction.  Do  you  understand  me,  my  dears .'  Now  some  of 
you,  I  have  no  doubt,  would  like  to  see  what  sort  of  young  peo- 
ple wear  the  beautiful  dresses  which  your  pocket-money  and  your 
industry  send  out  to  Africa.  I  have  here  the  little  pink  frock 
which  you,  Miss  Morrison,  finished  yesterday;  and  if  you  will 
grant  me  a  moment's  patience — " 

She  took  the  pink  frock  from  the  table,  and  for  a  second  or 
two  stooped  down  behind  the  table-cover.  When  she  rose,  it  ap- 
peared that  she  had  smuggled  a  large  black  dull  into  the  school; 
and  now  the  black  and  curly  head  of  the  doll  surmounted  the 


"  you  devil!"  13 

pink  cotton  garment  with  its  white  frills.  There  was  a  yell  of 
laughter.  She  stuck  the  doll  on  the  edge  of  the  table ;  she  put  a 
writing-desk  behind  it  to  support  it ;  she  hit  it  on  the  side  of  the 
head  when  it  did  not  sit  straight.  An  indescribable  tumult  fol- 
lowed :  all  possible  consequences  were  cast  aside. 

"  Now,  my  dears,  what  hymn  shall  we  sing  to  entertain  the 
little  stranger  ?     Shall  it  be  '  Away  down  South  in  Dixie  ?'  " 

The  school  had  gone  mad.  With  one  accord  the  girls  began 
to  shout  the  familiar  air  to  any  sort  of  words,  led  by  the  tall 
young  lady  behind  the  table,  who  flourished  a  ruler  in  place  of  a 
baton.  She  did  not  know  the  words  herself ;  she  simply  led  the 
chorus  with  any  sort  of  phrases. 

"  Ob  it's  Dixie's  land  that  I  was  born  in, 
Early  on  a  frosty  morning, 

In  the  land  !     In  the  land  !     In  the  land ! 
In  the  land !" 

"A  little  more  spirit,  my  dears!  A  little  louder,  if  you 
please !" 

"  Oh  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie, 
Oho!  oho! 
In  Dixie's  land  to  take  my  stand, 
And  live  and  die  in  Dixie's  land, 

Oho!  oho! 
Away  down  South  in  Dixie  !" 

"That's  better.  Now  pianissimo  —  the  sadness  of  thinking 
about  Dixie — you  understand  ?" 

They  sung  it  softly ;  and  she  pretended  to  wipe  the  eyes  of  the 
negro  doll  in  the  pink  dress. 

"  Now,  fortissimo  /"  she  cried,  nourishing  her  baton.  "Going, 
going,  for  the  last  time.     Take  the  word  from  me,  my  dears !" 

"  Oh  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie, 
Oho!  oho! 
In  Dixie's  land  to  take  my  stand, 
And  live  and  die  in  Dixie's  land, 

Oho!  oho! 
Away  down  South  in  Dixie  !" 

But  the  singing  of  this  verse  had  been  accompanied  by  certain 
strange  noises. 

"  Open  the  door,  Miss  North,  or  1  will  break  it  open !"  called 
the  mistress  from  without,  in  awful  tones. 


14  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"My  dears,  resume  your  tasks  —  instantly!"  said  Miss  Violet 
North ;  and  with  that  she  snatched  the  doll  out  of  the  pink  cos- 
tume, and  hurriedly  flung  it  into  her  private  desk.  Then  Bhe 
walked  to  the  door  alone. 

The  hubbub  had  instantly  subsided.  All  eyes  were  bent  upon 
the  books  before  them;  but  all  ears  were  listening  for  the  dread- 
ful interview  between  Violet  North  and  the  school-mist resa 

The  tall  young  girl,  having  made  quite  sure  that  her  compan- 
ion-, were  quiet  and  orderly,  opened  the  door.  The  mistress 
marched  in  in  a  terrible  rage  —  in  such  a  rage  that  she  could 
hardly  speak. 

''Miss  North,"  she  cried,  "what  is  the  meaning  of  this  dis- 
graceful uproar?" 

"  Uproar,  Miss  Main  ?"  said  she,  with  innocent  wonder.  "  The 
young  ladies  are  very  quiet." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  your  having  bolted  this  door?  How 
dare  you  bolt  the  door  V 

"  Yes,  I  thought  there  was  something  the  matter  with  the 
lock,"  she  answered,  scanning  the  door  critically.  "  But  you 
ought  not  to  be  vexed  by  that.  And  now  I  will  bid  you  good- 
morning." 

Thus  she  saved  herself  from  being  expelled.  She  coolly  walk- 
ed into  an  adjacent  room,  put  on  her  hat,  took  her  small  umbrel- 
la, and  went  out.  As  it  was  a  pleasant  morning,  she  thought  she 
would  go  for  a  walk. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CARl'E    DIEM. 

This  girl  was  as  straight  as  a  dart ;  and  she  knew  how  to  suit 
her  costume  to  her  fine  figure,  her  bright  and  clear  complexion, 
and  her  magnificent  black  hair.  She  wore  a  tight-fitting,  tight- 
sleeved  dress  of  gray  homespun,  and  a  gray  hat  with  a  scarlet 
feather — this  bold  dash  of  red  being  the  only  bit  of  pronounced 
color  about  her.  There  was  no  self-conscious  trickery  of  orna- 
ment visible  on  her  costume  ;  indeed,  there  was  no  self-conscious- 
ness of  any  sort  about  the  girl.     She  had  a  thoroughly  pagan  de- 


CARPK    DIEM.  15 

lio-ht  in  the  present  moment.  The  past  was  nothing  to  her ;  she 
had  no  fear  of  the  future ;  life  was  enjoyable  enough  from  hour 
to  hour,  and  she  enjoyed  it  accordingly.  She  never  paused  to 
think  how  handsome  she  was,  for  she  was  tolerably  indifferent  as 
to  what  other  people  thought  of  her.  She  was  well  satisfied  with 
herself,  and  well  satisfied  with  the  world,  especially  when  there 
was  plenty  of  fun  going  about ;  her  fine  health  gave  her  fine  spir- 
its; her  bold,  careless,  self-satisfied  nature  took  no  heed  of  criti- 
cism or  reproof,  and  caused  her  to  laugh  at  the  ordinary  trou- 
bles of  girl-life ;  not  even  this  great  fact  that  she  had  practical- 
ly run  away  from  school  was  sufficient  to  upset  her  superb  equa- 
nimity. 

Incessit  regina.  There  was  nothing  of  the  gawky  and  sham- 
bling school-girl  in  her  free,  frank  step,  and  her  erect  and  graceful 
carriage.  When  she  met  either  man  or  woman,  she  looked  him 
or  her  straight  in  the  face  ;  then  probably  turned  her  eyes  away 
indifferently  to  regard  the  flight  of  a  rook,  or  the  first  blush  of 
rose-color  on  a  red  hawthorn.  For,  on  leaving  school,  Miss  North 
found  herself  in  the  higher  reaches  of  Camberwell  Grove,  and  in 
this  richly  wooded  district  the  glad  new  life  of  the  spring  was 
visible  in  the  crisp,  uncurled  leaves  of  the  chestnuts,  and  in  the 
soft  green  of  the  mighty  elms,  and  in  the  white  and  purple  of  the 
lilacs  in  the  gardens  of  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  houses.  Never 
had  any  spring  come  to  us  so  quickly  as  that  one.  All  England 
had  lain  black  and  cold  under  the  grip  of  a  hard  and  tenacious 
winter  ;  even  the  end  of  March  found  us  with  bitter  east  winds, 
icy  roads,  and  leafless  trees.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  came  south 
winds  and  warm  rains ;  and  the  wet,  gray  skies  parted  at  times  to 
give  us  a  brilliant  glimpse  of  blue.  The  work  of  transformation 
was  magical  in  its  swiftness.  Far  away  in  secret  places  the  subtle 
fire  of  the  earth  upsprung  in  pale  primroses,  in  sweet  violets,  and 
in  the  glossy  and  golden  celandine  that  presaged  the  coming  of 
buttercups  into  the  meadows.  The  almond-trees,  even  in  subur- 
ban gardens,  shone  out  with  a  sudden  glow  of  pink  and  purple. 
The  lilac  bushes  opened  their  green  leaves  to  the  warm  rains. 
The  chestnuts  unclasped  their  resinous  buds.  And  then,  with  a 
great  wild  splendor  of  blue  sky  and  warm  sunlight,  the  bountiful, 
mild,  welcome  spring  came  fully  upon  us ;  and  all  the  world  was 
filled  with  the  laden  blossoms  of  fruit-trees,  and  the  blowing  of 
sweet  winds,  and  the  singing  of  thrushes  and  blackbirds.     To  bo 


10  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

abroad  on  such  a  morning  was  better  than  sitting  over  ail  Italian 
exercise  in  Miss  Main's  school-room. 

"  What  sort  of  tree  is  that?"  Miss  Violet  North  asked  of  a  lit- 
tle boy.  A  particular  tree  in  one  of  the  old-fashioned  gardens 
had  struck  her  fancy. 

"Dunnow,"  said  the  boy,  sulkily. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  know,  you  little  donkey  you  ?"  she  said, 
indifferently,  passing  on. 

She  crossed  Grove  Lane,  and  went  along  the  summit  of  Cham- 
pion Ilill,  under  the  shade  of  a  magnificent  row  of  chestnuts. 
Could  leaves  be  greener,  could  the  sweet  air  be  sweeter,  could  the 
fair  spring  sunshine  be  more  brilliant  in  the  remotest  of  English 
valleys?  Here  were  country -looking  houses,  with  sloping  gar- 
dens, and  little  fancy  farms  attached  ;  here  were  bits  of  woodland, 
the  remains  of  the  primeval  forest,  allowed  to  grow  up  into  a  sort 
of  wilderness  ;  here  were  rooks  flying  about  their  nests,  and  thrush- 
es busy  on  the  warm  green  lawns,  and  blackbirds  whirring  from 
one  laurel  bush  to  another.  She  walked  along  to  the  end  of  this 
thoroughfare  until  she  came  to  a  lane  which  led  abruptly  down 
hill,  facing  the  south.  Far  away  below  her  lay  the  green  mead- 
ows of  Dulwich  ;  and  beyond  the  trees,  and  looking  pale  and 
spectral  in  the  glare  of  the  heat,  rose  the  towers  of  the  Crystal 
Palace.  That  was  enough.  She  had  nothing  particular  to  do. 
Walking  was  a  delight  to  her  on  such  a  morning.  Without  any 
specific  resolve,  she  indolently  set  out  for  the  Crystal  Palace. 

There  was  indolence  in  her  purpose,  but  none  in  her  gait.  She 
walked  smartly  enough  down  the  steep  and  semi-private  thorough- 
fare which  is  called  Green  Lane ;  she  crossed  the  pleasant  mead- 
ows by  the  narrow  pathway  ;  she  got  out  upon  the  Dulwich  Road, 
and  so  continued  her  way  to  the  Palace.  But  she  was  not  to 
reach  the  goal  of  her  journey  without  an  adventure. 

She  was  just  passing  the  gate-way  leading  up  to  a  large  house, 
when  a  negro  page,  very  tall,  very  black,  and  wearing  a  bottle- 
green  livery,  with  scarlet  cuffs  and  collar,  came  out  of  the  garden 
into  the  road,  followed  by  a  little  terrier.  The  appearance  of  this 
lanky  black  boy  amused  her  ;  and  so,  as  a  friendly  mark  of  recog- 
nition, she  drew  her  umbrella  across  the  ground  in  front  of  the 
terrier  just  as  she  was  passing,  and  said,  "  Pfst  !"  But  this  overt- 
ure was  instantly  rejected  by  the  terrier,  which  turned  upon  her 
with  voluble  rage,  yelping,  barking,  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and 


CARPE    DIEM.  17 

threatening  to  spring  upon  her.  For  a  second  she  retreated  in 
dismay;  then,  as  she  saw  that  the  negro  hoy  was  more  frightened 
than  herself,  she  became  wildly  angry. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  your  dog  away  ?"  she  cried  ;  "  you — you 
stick  of  black  sealing-wax  !" 

In  this  moment  of  dire  distress  help  came  to  her  from  an  un- 
expected quarter.  A  young  gentleman  quickly  crossed  the  road, 
approached  the  irate  terrier  from  the  rear,  and  gave  the  animal 
a  sharp  cut  with  his  walking-stick.  The  rapidity  of  this  flank 
movement  completely  took  the  terrier  by  surprise ;  with  a  yelp, 
more  of  alarm  and  astonishment  than  of  pain,  it  fled  into  the 
garden,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

Violet  North  looked  up  ;  and  now  her  face  was  consciously 
red,  for  she  had  been  ignominiously  caught  in  a  fright. 

"I  am  sorry  you  should  have  been  alarmed,"  said  the  young 
man ;  and  he  had  a  pleasant  voice. 

"Yes,  the  nasty  little  brute!"  said  she;  and  then,  recollecting 
that  that  was  not  the  manner  in  which  a  stranger  should  be  ad- 
dressed, she  said,  "I  thank  you  very  much  for  driving  the  dog 
away :  it  was  very  kind  of  you." 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing,"  said  he ;  "  I  am  very  glad  I  happened  to 
be  by."  He  lifted  his  hat,  said  "  Good-morning !"  and  passed  on 
in  front  of  her. 

She  looked  after  him.  Had  she  ever  seen  so  handsome,  so 
beautiful  a  young  man  ?     Never ! 

Just  at  the  present  moment  several  of  our  English  artists  are 
very  fond  of  painting  a  peculiar  type  of  feminine  beauty  —  a 
woman  with  a  low  and  broad  forehead,  large,  indolent,  sleepy 
blue  eyes,  thin  cheeks,  short  upper  lip,  full  under  lip,  somewhat 
square  jaw,  and  magnificent  throat.  It  is  a  beautiful  head  enough 
— languid,  unintellectual,  semi-sensuous,  but  beautiful.  Now  this 
young  man  was  as  near  as  possible  a  masculine  version  of  that 
indolent,  beautiful,  mystic-eyed  woman,  whose  face  one  meets  in 
dusky  corners  of  drawing-rooms,  or  in  the  full  glare  of  exhibi- 
tions. He  was  no  mere  roseate  youth,  flabby-cheeked  and  curly- 
locked,  such  as  a  school-girl  might  try  to  paint  in  crude  water- 
colors.  His  appearance  was  striking ;  there  was  something  re- 
fined, special,  characteristic  about  his  features  ;  and,  moreover,  he 
had  not  cropped  his  hair  as  our  Tnodcrn  youths  are  wont  to  do — 
the  short  wavy  locks  of  light  brown  nearly  reached  his  shirt-col- 


18  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

lar.  For  the  rest  he  was  sparely  built,  perhaps  about  five  feet 
eight,  square -shouldered,  light  and  active  in  figure.  Was  there 
any  harm  in  a  school-girl  admitting  to  herself  that  he  was  a  very 
good-looking  young  man  ? 

Walking  about  the  Crystal  Palace  by  one's  self  is  not  the  most 
exciting  of  amusements.  The  place  was  very  familiar  to  Miss 
North ;  and  she  had  lost  interest  in  the  copper-colored  aborigi- 
nes, and  in  the  wonderful  pillar  of  gold.  But  she  had  one  little 
bit  of  enjoyment.  She  caught  sight  of  a  small  boy,  who,  when 
nobody  was  looking,  was  trying  to  "  job  "  one  of  the  cockatoos 
with  the  end  of  a  toy-whip.  Well,  also  when  nobody  was  look- 
ing, she  took  occasion  to  get  behind  this  little  boy,  and  then  she 
gave  him  a  gentle  push,  which  was  just  sufficient  to  let  the  cock- 
atoo, making  a  downward  dip  at  his  enemy's  head,  pull  out  a 
cjoodly  tuft  of  hair.  There  was  a  frightful  squeal  of  alarm  from 
the  boy  ;  but  in  a  second  she  was  round  in  some  occult  historical 
chamber,  studying  with  becoming  gravity  the  lessons  taught  us 
by  the  tombs  of  kings. 

Then  she  became  very  hungry,  and  she  thought  she  would  go 
and  have  some  luncheon.  When  she  entered  the  dining-room 
she  was  a  little  shy  —  not  much;  but  she  was  speedily  attended 
by  a  friendly  old  waiter,  who  quite  put  her  at  her  ease.  When 
he  asked  her  what  she  would  take,  she  was  on  the  point  of  an- 
swering, "  Cold  beef,  if  you  please,"  as  she  would  have  done  at 
school ;  but  she  suddenly  bethought  herself  that,  being  in  a  res- 
taurant, she  might  have  something  better,  and  so  she  asked  for 
the  bill  of  fare,  scanned  it,  and  finally  ordered  an  oyster  pate  and 
a  couple  of  lamb  cutlets,  with  green  pease  and  tomatoes. 

"And  what  will  you  take  to  drink,  miss  C  said  the  old  waiter. 

"  Some  water,  thank  you,"  she  said ;  but  directly  afterward  she 
added,  "  Wait  a  momeut ;  I  think  I  will  take  a  glass  of  sherry,  if 
you  please." 

So  the  waiter  departed ;  and  she  turned  to  glance  at  her  sur- 
roundings. The  first  thing  she  noticed,  much  to  her  surprise  and 
mortification,  was  that  she  had  inadvertently  sat  down  at  the  ta- 
ble at  which,  on  the  opposite  side  and  farther  along,  the  young 
man  was  having  lunch  to  whom  she  had  spoken  in  the  morning. 
She  was  annoyed.  What  must  he  think  of  a  young  lady  who 
went  wandering  about  the  country  by  herself,  and  coolly  walked 
into  restaurants  to  order  cutlets  and  sherry?     It  was  rather  a 


CARPE    DIEM.  19 

strange  circumstance  that  Miss  North  should  be  troubled  by  this 
conjecture ;  for  she  rarely,  if  ever,  paid  the  least  attention  to  what 
people  might  think  of  her;  but  on  this  occasion  she  began  to 
wish  she  might  have  some  opportunity  of  explaining  her  conduct. 

The  opportunity  occurred.  That  friendly  old  waiter  had  ap- 
parently forgotten  the  order ;  anyhow,  the  girl  sat  there  patient- 
ly, and  nothing  was  brought  to  her.  She  wished  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  waiter,  and  made  one  or  two  attempts,  but  failed. 
Seeing  the  plight  she  was  in,"  the  young  gentleman  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table  made  bold  to  address  her,  and  said, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  fear  they  are  not  attending  to  you. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  speak  to  one  of  the  waiters  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  said,  blushing  a  little  bit. 

The  young  man  walked  off  and  got  hold  of  the  manager,  to 
whom  he  made  his  complaint.  Then  he  came  back;  and  Miss 
North  was  more  anxious  than  ever  to  justify  herself  in  his  eyes. 
The  notion  was  becoming  quite  desperate  that  he  might  go  away 
thinking  she  knew  so  little  of  propriety  as  to  be  in  the  habit  of 
frequenting  restaurants  all  by  herself. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you — again,"  she  said,  with  some- 
thing of  an  embarrassed  smile.  "  I  believed  they  meant  to  pun- 
ish me  for  going  away  from  school." 

"  From  school  ?"  said  he,  doubtfully ;  and  he  drew  his  chair  a 
little  nearer. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  resolved  at  any  cost  to  put  herself  right  in  his 
opinion.  "  I  ought  to  have  been  at  school.  I — I  walked  away — 
and  one  gets  hungry,  you  know.  I — I  thought  it  was  better  to 
come  in  here." 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,"  said  he  ;  "  why  not  ?" 

"  I  have  always  been  left  a  good  deal  to  myself,"  said  this  anx- 
ious young  lady,  leading  up  to  her  grand  coup.  "  My  father  is 
always  away  looking  after  railways,  and  I  dislike  my  step-mother, 
so  that  I  am  never  at  home.  Of  course,  you  have  heard  of  my 
father's  name — Sir  Acton  North  ?" 

Now  she  was  satisfied.  He  would  know  she  was  not  some 
giddy  maid -servant  out  for  a  holiday.  She  uttered  the  words 
clearly,  so  that  there  should  be  no  mistake,  and  perhaps  a  triUe 
proudly ;  then  she  waited  for  him  to  withdraw  his  chair  again, 
and  resume  his  luncheon.     But  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  with  a  respectful  earnestness,  "  every  one 


20  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

has  heard  of  Sir  Acton  North.  I  am  very  pleased  that — that  I 
have  been  of  any  little  service  to  you.  I  dare  say,  now,  you  have 
heard  of  my  father,  too — George  Miller  ?" 

"No,  1  have  not,"  she  said,  seriously,  as  though  her  ignorance 
of  that  distinguished  name  were  a  grave  blot  on  her  bringing- 
up. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  the  handsome  young  man,  meekly, 
"  he  is  pretty  well  known  as  a  merchant,  but  better  known  as  a 
Protestant.  lie  takes  the  chairs  at  meetings,  and  gives  big  sub- 
scriptions, and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  I  believe  the  Pope  can't 
sleep  in  his  bed  o'  nights  on  account  of  him." 

"  I — I  think  I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Miss  North,  conscious 
that  she  ought  to  know  something  of  so  important  a  person. 

At  this  point  she  was  distinctly  of  opinion  that  the  conversa- 
tion should  cease.  Young  ladies  are  not  supposed  to  talk  to 
young  gentlemen  to  whom  they  have  not  been  introduced,  even 
although  they  may  have  heard  of  each  other's  parents  as  being 
distinguished  people.  But  George  Miller  the  younger  seemed  a 
pleasant  young  man,  who  had  a  frank  smile,  and  an  obvious  lack 
of  stiffness  and  circumspection  in  his  nature.  They  had  brought 
her  the  oyster  pate  ;  now  came  the  cutlets. 

"That  was  the  mistake  you  made,"  said  he,  venturing  to  smile. 
"  When  you  are  in  a  hurry  you  should  not  order  out-of-the-way 
things,  or  they  are  sure  to  keep  you  waiting." 

"  I  never  came  into  a  restaurant  by  myself  before,"  she  said, 
with  some  asperity.  "Would  this  foolish  young  man  persist  in  the 
notion  that  she  habitually  ordered  luncheon  in  such  a  fashion  ? 

"What  school  was  it  you  left,  may  I  ask?"  said  he,  with  a 
friendly  interest  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh !"  she  answered,  with  a  return  to  her  ordinary  careless 
manner,  "  Miss  Main's  Seminary,  in  Camberwcll  Grove.  I  knew 
she  was  going  to  expel  me.  We  had  had  a  little  amusement 
when  she  was  out  of  the  room — a  little  too  much  noise,  in  fact — 
and  though  she  has  often  threatened  to  expel  me,  I  saw  by  her 
face  she  meant  mischief  this  time.  So  I  left.  What  a  pleasant 
morning  it  was  for  a  walk  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  looking  rather  puzzled ;  "  but — but — what  are 
you  going  to  do  now  ?" 

"  Now  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know  !  There  will  be  plenty  of  time  for 
me  to  settle  where  I  am  going  when  I  get  back  to  town." 


CARPE    DIEM.  21 

"Are  yon  going  back  to  London  all  by  yourself  2" 

"  I  came  here  by  myself  :  why  not  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  some  real  anxiety,  "  it  is  rather  an  un- 
usual thing  for  a  young  lady  to  be  going  about  like  that.  I  think 
you  ought  to — to  go  home — " 

"  My  father  is  in  Yorkshire ;  I  would  rather  not  go  to  see  my 
step -mother.  We  should  have  rather  a  warm  evening  of  it,  I 
imagine,"  she  added,  frankly. 

"  Where,  then—?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  where  to  go  !"  she  said,  indifferently.  "  There  is 
a  little  girl  at  the  school  I  am  very  fond  of,  and  she  is  very  fond 
of  me ;  and  she  and  her  mother  live  with  her  uncle  in  Camberwell 
Grove,  not  far  from  the  school.  They  will  take  me  in,  I  know ; 
they  are  very  kind  people." 

By  this  time  she  had  finished  her  luncheon — the  young  man 
had  neglected  his  altogether — and  she  asked  the  waiter  for  her 
bill.  She  certainly  had  plenty  of  money  in  her  purse.  She  gave 
the  old  gentleman,  who  had  systematically  not  attended  to  her,  a 
shilling  for  himself. 

"  Would  you  allow  me  to  see  you  into  a  carriage,"  timidly  sug- 
gested Mr.  George  Miller,  "  if  you  are  going  up  by  rail  ?" 

"Oh  no  1"  she  said,  with  a  sweet  smile;  "I  can  take  care  of 
myself." 

Which  was  true. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  Miss  North,  I  am  afraid  I  can  not  claim 
you  as  an  acquaintance — because — because  our  meeting  has  been 
rather — rather  informal,  as  it  were  ;  but  would  you  allow  me,  sup- 
posing I  were  introduced  to  your  father — " 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  you  to  know  my  father  well  enough,"  said 
she,  honestly. 

"That  was  not  what  I  meant  exactly,"  said  he.  "  I  meant  that 
if  I  got  to  know  your  father,  that  would  be  a  sort  of  equivalent — 
don't  you  think  ? — to  a  formal  introduction  to  you." 

The  girl  very  nearly  burst  out  laughiDg. 

"  I  think  we  are  pretty  well  introduced  already,"  said  she,  "  by 
means  of  a  terrier -dog  and  a  stupid  waiter.  Thank  you  very 
much  for  your  kindness.     Good-afternoon." 

She  was  going  away  with  her  ordinary  erect  carriage  and  care- 
less bearing,  when  he  suddenly  put  out  his  hand  to  shake  hands 
with  her.     She  had  risen  by  this  time.     Well,  she  could  not  be 


22  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

guilty  of  the  discourtesy  of  a  refusal ;  and  so  she  allowed  him  to 
shake  hands  with  her. 

"  I  hope  this  is  not  the  last  time  we  shall  meet,"  said  he,  with 
an  earnestness  which  rather  surprised  her,  and  which  she  did  not 
fail  to  remember  when  she  got  into  the  quiet  corner  of  a  railway 
carriage.  Did  lie  really  wish  to  sec  her  again  ?  Was  there  a 
chance  of  their  meeting  ?  What  would  properly  conducted  peo- 
ple say  of  her  adventures  of  that  morning? 

She  did  not  care  much.  She  got  out  at  Denmark  Hill  Station, 
and  placidly  walked  up  to  the  house  of  Mr.  James  Drummond, 
which  was  situated  near  the  top  of  Camberwell  Grove. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    SUBURBAN    PHILOSOPHER. 


This  house  was  rather  like  a  toy-cottage — a  long,  low,  rambling 
place,  with  a  veranda  all  round,  ivy  trained  up  the  pillars,  French 
windows,  small  peaked  gables,  some  few  trees  and  bushes  in  front, 
and  a  good  garden  behind.  Miss  North  did  not  wait  for  an  an- 
swer to  her  summons.  She  bethought  herself  that  she  would  be 
sure  to  find  Mr.  Drummond,  or  his  widowed  sister,  Mrs.  Warrener, 
or  his  niece,  Amy  Warrener,  in  the  garden  ;  and  so  she  made  her 
way  round  the  house  by  a  side  path.  Here,  indeed,  she  found 
Mr.  Drummond.  He  was  seated  in  the  veranda,  in  a  big  read- 
ing-chair ;  one  leg  was  crossed  over  the  other ;  he  was  smoking  a 
long  clay  pipe ;  but  instead  of  improving  his  mind  by  reading, 
he  was  simply  idling  and  dreaming — looking  out  on  the  bushes 
and  the  blossom-laden  trees,  over  which  a  dusky  red  sky  was  now 
beginning  to  burn. 

He  jumped  up  from  his  seat  when  he  saw  her,  and  rather  un- 
wisely began  to  laugh.  He  was  a  tall,  thin,  somewhat  ungainly 
man,  with  curious/y  irregular  features,  the  expression  of  which 
seldom  remained  the  same  for  a  couple  of  seconds  together.  Yet 
there  was  something  attractive  about  this  strange  face — about  its 
keen,  vivacious  intelligence  and  its  mobile  tendency  to  laugh;  and 
there  was  no  doubt  about  the  fine  character  of  the  eyes — full, 
clear,  quick   to   apprehend,  and   yet   soft  and   winning.      Violet 


A    SUBURBAN    PHILOSOPHER.  23 

North  had  a  great  liking  and  regard  for  this  friend  of  hers ;  but 
sometimes  she  stood  a  little  in  awe  of  him.  She  could  not  alto- 
gether follow  his  quick,  playful  humor ;  she  was  always  suspect- 
ing sarcasm  behind  his  drolleries ;  it  was  clear  to  her  that,  what- 
ever was  being  talked  about,  he  saw  far  more  than  she  or  any 
body  else  saw,  for  he  would  suddenly  burst  into  a  prodigious  roar 
of  merriment  over  some  point  or  other  wholly  invisible  to  her  or 
to  his  sister.  The  man,  indeed,  had  all  the  childish  fun  of  a  man 
of  genius ;  and  a  man  of  genius  he  undoubtedly  was,  though  he 
had  never  done  any  thing  to  show  to  the  world,  nor  was  likely  to 
do  any  thing.  Early  in  life  he  had  been  cursed  by  a  fatal  inher- 
itance of  somewhere  about  600/.  a  year.  He  was  incurably  in- 
dolent— that  is  to  say,  his  brain  was  on  the  hop,  skip,  and  jump 
from  morning  till  night,  performing  all  manner  of  intellectual 
feats  for  his  own  private,  amusement;  but  as  for  any  settled 
work,  or  settled  habits,  he  would  have  nothing  of  either.  He 
was  a  very  unworldly  person — careless  of  the  ordinary  aims  of 
the  life  around  him ;  but  he  had  elaborated  a  vast  amount  of 
theories  to  justify  his  indolence.  He  belonged  to  a  good  family  ; 
he  never  called  on  his  rich  or  distinguished  relatives.  At  college 
he  was  celebrated  as  a  brilliant  and  ready  debater,  and  as  a  capri- 
cious, whimsical,  but  altogether  delightful  conversationalist ;  he 
was  fairly  studious,  and  obviously  clear-headed ;  yet  no  one  ever 
left  a  university  with  less  of  glory  surrounding  him.  He  had  a 
large  number  of  friends,  and  they  all  loved  him ;  but  they  knew 
his  faults.  He  had  no  more  notion  of  time  than  a  bird  or  a  but- 
terfly ;  he  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  catch  the  train  for  which 
he  set  out :  but,  then,  what  ill-temper  on  the  part  of  a  companion 
could  withstand  the  perfectly  happy  fashion  in  which  he  would 
proceed  to  show  that  a  railway-station  was  an  excellent  place  for 
reflection  ?  Then,  he  had  a  bewildering  love  of  paradox — espe- 
cially puzzling  to  a  certain  ingenuous  young  lady  who  sometimes 
sat  and  mutely  listened  to  his  monologues.  Then,  he  was  very 
unfair  in  argument;  he  would  patiently  lead  his  opponent  on  in 
the  hope  that  at  last  this  unprincipled  debater  was  about  to  be 
driven  into  a  corner — when,  lo !  there  was  some  sort  of  twitch 
about  the  odd  face,  a  glimmer  of  humor  in  the  fine  eyes,  and 
with  some  preposterous  joke  he  was  off,  like  a  squirrel  up  a  tree, 
leaving  his  antagonist  discomfited  below. 

He  led  his  sister  a  hard  life  of  it.     The  pale,  little,  fair-haired 


24  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

woman  had  a  great  faith  in  her  brother ;  she  believed  him  to  he 
the  best  and  the  cleverest  man  that  ever  lived ;  and  no  one  with 
less  good -nature  than  herself  could  have  listened  patiently  to 
the  whimsical  extravagances  of  this  incorrigible  talker.  For  the 
worst  about  him  was  that  he  made  remarks  at  random — suggest- 
ed by  the  book  he  was  reading,  or  by  some  passing  circumstance 
— and  then,  when  his  puzzled  interlocutor  was  trying  to  compre- 
hend him,  he  was  off  to  something  else,  quite  unconscious  that  he 
had  left  the  other  a  continent  or  a  century  behind  him.  Some- 
times, indeed,  he  made  a  wild  effort  to  show  that  this  or  that  ab- 
rupt observation  was  a  projios  to  something — which  it  never  was. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  would  say  to  his  patient  sister,  "  I  fancy  I 
see  something  in  Fawcett  of  a  sort  of  political  Shelley." 

A  moment's  silence. 

"  Yes,  James,"  his  sister  would  say,  seriously,  "  but  in  what 
way?" 

Another  moment's  silence. 

"  Oh,  about  Fawcett  ?  Well,  I  was  thinking,  do  you  know, 
that  if  the  House  of  Commons  were  to  introduce  a  bill  securing 
universal  suffrage,  this  little  terrier  here  would  die  of  despair 
and  disgust.  That  is  the  one  weak  point  about  dogs — you  can't 
convey  to  them  any  impression  of  moral  grandeur.  It  is  all  fine 
clothes  with  them,  and  gentlemanly  appearance;  the  virtues  hid- 
den beneath  a  shabby  costume  are  unknown  to  them.  Frosty, 
here,  would  wag  her  tail  and  welcome  the  biggest  swindler  that 
ever  brought  out  sham  companies;  but  she  would  be  suspicious 
of  the  honest  workman,  and  she  would  snap  at  the  calves  of  the 
most  deserving  of  beggars.  Sarah,  you  really  must  cease  that 
habit  of  yours  of  indiscriminate  almsgiving — fancy  the  impostors 
you  must  be  encouraging — " 

His  sister  opened  her  eyes  in  mild  protest.  "  Why,  it  was  only 
yesterday  you  gave  that  old  Frenchman  half  a  crown — " 

"Well,"  said  he,  uncomfortably,  "well — you  see — I  thought 
that — that  even  if  he  was  shamming,  he  looked  such  an  unfortu- 
nate poor  devil — but  that  is  only  a  single  case.  There  is  a  sys- 
tematic outrage  on  your  part,  Sarah,  of  the  common  principles  of 
prudence — " 

"  You  do  it  far  more  than  I  do,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet  laugh ; 
and  so  she  went  her  way,  only  she  had  got  no  information  as  to 
how  Mr.  Fawcett  resembled  a  political  Shelley. 


A    SUBURBAN    PHILOSOPHER.  25 

Only  one  word  needs  to  be  added  at  present  to  this  hasty  and 
imperfect  description  of  a  bright  and  sparkling  human  individu- 
ality, the  thousand  facets  of  which  could  never  be  seen  at  once 
and  from  the  same  stand -point.  There  was  no  jealousy  in  the 
man's  nature  of  men  who  were  more  successful  in  the  world  than 
himself.  He  had  a  sort  of  profession — that  is  to  say,  he  occa- 
sionally wrote  articles  for  this  or  that  learned  review.  But  he 
was  far  too  capricious  and  uncertain  to  be  intrusted  with  any  sus- 
tained and  continuous  work,  and,  indeed,  even,  with  incidental 
work,  he  frequently  vexed  the  soul  of  the  most  indulgent  of  ed- 
itors. No  one  could  guess  what  view  of  a  particular  book  or 
question  he  might  not  take  at  a  moment's  notice.  Of  course,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  that  fatal  60GV.  a  year,  he  might  have  been 
put  in  harness,  and  accomplished  some  substantial  work.  Even 
if  he  had  had  any  extravagant  tastes,  something  in  that  way 
might  have  been  done ;  but  the  little  household  lived  very  eco- 
nomically (except  as  regards  charity  and  the  continual  giving  of 
presents  to  friends),  its  chief  and  important  expense  being  the  cost 
of  a  long,  happy  holiday  in  the  autumn.  There  was  no  jealousy, 
as  I  have  said,  in  Drummond's  nature  over  the  success  of  more 
practical  men ;  no  grudging,  no  detraction,  no  spite.  The  fire 
of  his  life  burned  too  keenly  and  joyously  to  have  any  smoke 
about  it. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  would  say — always  to  his  consentient  audience 
of  one — "  it  is  a  serious  thing  for  a  man  to  endeavor  to  become 
famous.  He  can  not  tell  until  he  tries  —  and  tries  for  years — 
whether  there  is  any  thing  in  him ;  and,  then,  look  at  the  awful 
risk  of  failure  and  life-long  disappointment.  You  see,  when  once 
you  enter  the  race  for  fame  or  for  great  riches,  you  can't  very 
well  give  in.  You're  bound  in  honor  not  to  give  in.  The  pres- 
ence of  rivals  all  round  you — and,  what  is  stronger  still,  the  envi- 
ous caviling  of  the  disappointed  people,  and  the  lecturing  you  get 
from  the  feebler  Jabberwocks  of  criticism — all  that  kind  of  thing 
must,  I  should  fancy,  drive  a  man  on  in  spite  of  himself.  But 
don't  you  think  it  is  wiser  for  people  who  are  not  thrust  into  the 
race  by  some  unusual  consciousness  of  power  to  avoid  it  altogeth- 
er, and  live  a  quieter  and  more  peaceable  life  ?" 

Sarah  did  think  so ;  she  was  always  sure  that  her  brother  was 
right,  even  when  he  flatly  contradicted  himself,  and  he  generally 
did  that  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  day. 


26  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  Well,  Miss  Violet,"  he  said  to  the  young  lady  who  had  sud- 
denly presented  herself  before  him,  "  I  hear  you  have  rather  dis- 
tinguished yourself  to-day." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  an  embarrassed  laugh,  "I  believe  I  have 
done  it  this  time." 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  now  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  And  don't  care,  perhaps  ?" 

"  Not  much." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  But  at  this  moment  his  sister 
came  through  the  small  drawing-room  into  the  veranda;  and 
there  was  far  more  concern  visible  on  her  face.  Mr.  Drummond 
seemed  to  have  but  a  speculative  interest  in  this  curious  human 
phenomenon,  but  his  sister  had  a  vivid  affection  for  the  girl  who 
had  befriended  her  daughter  at  school,  and  become  her  sworn  ally 
and  champion.  Both  of  them,  it  is  true,  were  considerably  at- 
tracted toward  Miss  North.  To  him  there  was  something  singu- 
larly fascinating  in  her  fine,  unconscious  enjoyment  of  the  mere 
fact  of  living,  in  her  audacious  frankness,  and  even  in  the  shrewd, 
clear  notions  about  things  that  had  got  into  her  school-girl  brain. 
In  many  respects  this  girl  was  more  a  woman  of  the  world  than 
her  gentle  friend  and  timid  adviser,  Mrs.  Warrener.  As  for  Mrs. 
Warrcner,  she  had  almost  grown  to  love  this  bold,  frank,  sincere, 
plain-spoken  companion  of  her  daughter;  but  she  derived  no 
amusement,  as  her  brother  did,  from  the  girl's  wild  ways  and  love 
of  fun,  which  occasionally  made  her  rather  anxious.  To  her  it 
was  not  always  a  laughing  matter. 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  she  said,  "  what  have  you  been  about  this  time  ? 
What  can  we  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Well,  not  very  much,  I  am  afraid,"  was  the  rueful  answer. 

Apparently,  Miss  Violet  was  rather  ashamed  of  her  exploit; 
and  yet  there  was  a  curious,  half -concealed,  comic  expression 
about  the  face  of  the  penitent  which  did  not  betoken  any  great 
self-abasement. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  home  ?"  said  James  Drummond,  "  and  get 
your  parents  to  come  over  and  intercede  for  you  ?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  that  would  be  no  use.  My  father  is  in  York- 
shire." 

"But  Lady  North—  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  see  my  step-mother  go  out  of  her  way  the 


A    SUBURBAN    PHILOSOPHER. 


27 


length  of  a  yard  on  my  account!  She  never  did  like  me;  but 
she  has  hated  me  worse  than  ever  since  Euston  Square." 

"  Euston  Square—  ?" 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  girl,  "  don't  you  know  that  I  am  a  sort 
of  equivalent  for  Euston  Square  ?" 

"  This  is  becoming  serious,"  said  Mr.  Drummond.  "  If  you  are 
about  to  amuse  us  with  conundrums,  we  had  better  all  sit  down. 
Here  is  a  chair  for  you.  Sarah,  sit  down.  And  so  you  were  say- 
ing that  you  were  an  equivalent,  Miss  Violet  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  observed,  coolly  folding  her  hands  on  her  knees. 
"It  is  not  a  very  long  story.  You  know  my  step -mother  was 
never  a  very  fashionable  person.  Her  father  —  well,  her  father 
built  rows  of  cheap  villas  in  the  suburbs,  on  speculation ;  and  he 
lived  in  Highbury ;  and  he  told  you  the  price  of  the  wines  at 
dinner — you  know  the  kind  of  man.  But  when  she  married  my 
father" — there  was  always  a  touch  of  pride  in  the  way  Miss 
North  said  "  my  father " — "  she  had  a  great  notion  of  getting 
from  Highbury  to  Park  Lane,  or  Palace  Gardens,  or  Lancaster 
Gate,  or  some  such  place,  and  having  a  big  house,  and  trying  to 
get  into  society.  Well,  you  see,  that  would  not  suit  my  father 
at  all.  He  almost  lives  on  railways ;  he  is  not  once  a  week  in 
London ;  and  he  knows  Euston  Square  a  good  deal  better  than 
Belgravia.  So  he  proposed  to  my  step-mother  that  if  she  Avould 
consent  to  have  a  house  in  Euston  Square,  for  his  convenience, 
he  would  study  her  convenience  and  comfort,  by  allowing  me  to 
remain  permanently  at  a  boarding-school.  Do  you  see?  I  can 
tell  you  I  rejoiced  when  I  heard  of  that  bargain;  for  the  house 
that  my  step-mother  and  I  were  in  was  a  good  deal  too  small  for 
both  of  us.     Yet  I  don't  think  she  had  always  the  best  of  it." 

This  admission  was  made  so  modestly,  simply,  and  unconscious- 
ly, that  Mr.  Drummond  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  while  his 
sister  looked  a  trifle  shocked. 

"What  did  you  do  to  her?"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  women  can  always  find  ways  of  annoying  each  other, 
when  they  wish  it,"  she  answered,  coolly. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  we  must  see  what  can  be  done. 
Let  us  have  a  turn  in  the  garden,  and  talk  over  this  pretty  situa- 
tion of  affairs." 

They  descended  the  few  steps.  Mrs.  Warrener  linked  the 
girl's  arm  in  hers,  and  took  her  quietly  along  the  narrow  gar- 


28  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

den  path,  James  Drummoncl  walking  beside  them  on  the  lawn. 
There  was  a  strange  contrast  between  the  two  women — the  one 
tall,  straight  and  lithe  as  a  willow -wand,  proud -lipped,  frank, 
happy,  and  courageous  of  face,  with  all  the  light  of  youth  and 
strength  shining  in  her  eyes  ;  the  other  tender,  small,  and  wistful, 
with  sometimes  an  anxious  and  apprehensive  contraction  of  the 
brows.  By  the  side  of  these  two  the  philosopher  walked — a  long 
and  lanky  person,  stooping  somewhat,  talking  a  good  deal  of 
nonsense  to  tease  his  companions,  ready  to  explode  at  a  moment's 
notice  into  a  great  burst  of  hearty  and  genuine  laughter,  and 
ready  at  the  same  time  to  tender  any  sacrifice,  however  great, 
that  this  girl  could  claim  of  him,  or  his  sister  suggest.  For  the 
rest,  it  was  a  beautiful  evening  in  this  still  and  secluded  subur- 
ban garden.  The  last  flush  of  rose-red  was  dying  out  of  the  sky 
over  the  great  masses  of  blossom  on  the  fruit-trees.  There  was  a 
cooler  feeling  in  the  air ;  and  the  sweet  odor  of  the  lilac  bushes 
seemed  to  become  still  more  prevailing  and  sweet. 

"  Don't  look  on  me  as  an  incumbrance,"  said  Miss  North, 
frankly.  "  I  only  came  to  you  for  a  bit  of  advice.  I  shall  pull 
through  somehow." 

"  We  shall  never  look  upon  you  as  an  incumbrance,  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Warrener,  in  her  kindly  way.  "You  know  you  can  always 
come  and  stay  Avith  us,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  the  worst  coming  to  the  best,"  said  the 
girl,  demurely. 

"  My  notion,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  trying  to  catch  at  a  but- 
terfly that  was  obviously  getting  home  in  a  hurry — "  is  that  you 
ought  to  give  Miss  Main  a  night  to  cool  down  her  wrath ;  and 
then  in  the  morning  I  will  go  round  and  intercede  for  you.  I 
suppose  you  are  prepared  to  apologize  to  her." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Miss  North  said,  but  not  with  the  air  of  a  conscious 
sinner. 

"  Miss  Main,  I  fancy  now,"  continued  the  philosopher,  "  is  the 
sort  of  woman  who  would  be  easily  pacified.  So  far  as  I  have 
seen  her,  there  is  little  pretense  about  her,  and  no  vanity.  It  is 
only  very  vain  people,  you  will  find,  who  are  easily  mortified  and 
implacable  in  their  resentment.  The  vain  man  is  continually 
turning  his  eyes  inward  and  addressing  himself  thus:  'Sir,  I 
most  humbly  beg  your  pardon  for  having  brought  discomfiture 
and  ridicule  on  so  august  and  important  a  personage  as  yourself.' 


A    SUBURBAN    PHILOSOPHER.  "29 

He  is  always  worshiping  that  little  idol  within  him ;  and  if  any 
body  throws  a  pellet  of  mud  at  it,  he  will  never  forgive  the  insult. 
A  vain  man — " 

"  But  about  Miss  Main,  James  ?"  said  his  sister.  She  had  nev- 
er any  scruple  about  interrupting  him,  if  any  business  was  on 
hand ;  for  she  knew  that,  failing  the  interruption,  he  would  go 
wandering  all  over  the  world. 

"  Oh  yes — Miss  Main.  Well,  Miss  Main,  I  say,  does  not  ap- 
pear to  be  a  morbidly  vain  person,  likely  to  be  implacable.  I 
think  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  stay  with  us  to-night,  and 
to-morrow  morning  I  will  go  round  to  Miss  Main,  and  try  to  pac- 
ify her — " 

"  I  hope  you  won't  laugh  at  her,  James,"  his  sister  suggested. 

"  My  dear  woman,  I  am  the  most  diplomatic  person  in  the 
world  —  as,  for  example:  we  are  going  in  presently  to  dinner. 
Dinner  without  a  fire  in  the  grate  is  an  abomination.  Now,  if  I 
were  to  suggest  to  you  to  have  a  log  of  wood  put  on — a  regular 
blazer,  for  the  night  is  becoming  chill  —  something  to  cheer  us 
and  attract  the  eyes,  just  as  you  always  see  the  eyes  of  infants 
attracted  by  flames.     And  where  is  Amy  ?"  he  added,  suddenly. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  North,  with  humility,  "  that  Amy 
is  being  kept  out  of  the  way,  so  that  she  sha'n't  meet  a  wicked 
person  like  me."  ' 

"  Indeed,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  though  sometimes  she  cer- 
tainly did  not  consider  Miss  Violet's  conduct  a  good  example  for 
her  daughter.  "Amy  is  at  her  lessons;  she  is  coming  in  to  din- 
ner to-night." 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  go  and  help  her !"  said  the  visitor.  "  And  I 
promise  to  tell  her  how  bad  I  have  been,  and  how  I  am  never 
going  to  do  so  any  more." 

So,  for  the  time,  the  little  party  was  broken  up ;  but  it  met 
again  in  a  short  time,  in  a  quaint  little  room  that  was  cheerfully 
lighted,  round  a  bright  table,  and  in  view  of  a  big  log  that  was 
blazing  in  the  fire-place.  The  banquet  was  not  a  gorgeous  one 
— the  little  household  had  the  simplest  tastes — but  it  was  flavor- 
ed throughout  by  a  friendly  kindness,  a  good  humor,  a  sly  mer- 
riment that  was  altogether  delightful.  Then,  after  the  frugal 
meal  was  over,  they  drew  their  chairs  into  a  semicircle  before  the 
fire  —  Mr.  Drummond  being  enthroned  in  his  especial  reading- 
chair,  and  having  his  pipe  brought  him  by  his  niece.     Violet 


:50  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

North  was  pretty  familiar  with  those  quiet,  bright,  talkative 
evenings  in  this  little  home ;  and  though  at  times  she  was  a  lit- 
tle perplexed  by  the  paradoxes  of  the  chief  controversialist,  she 
was  not  so  much  of  a  school-girl  as  not  to  perceive  the  fine,  clear, 
intellectual  fire  that  played  about  his  idle  talk  like  summer  light- 
ning, while  all  unconsciously  to  herself  she  was  drinking  in  some- 
thing of  the  charm  of  the  great  unworldliness  of  this  little  house- 
hold which  promised  to  be  of  especial  benefit  to  a  girl  of  her  nat- 
ure. She  did  not  always  understand  him  ;  but  she  was  always 
delighted  with  him.  If  the  quaint  humor  of  some  suggestion 
was  rather  too  recondite  for  her,  she  could  at  least  recognize  the 
reflection  of  it  in  his  face,  and  its  curious  irregular  lines.  Sir 
Acton  North  was  not  aware  that  his  daughter  was  attending  two 
schools,  and  this  one  the  more  important  of  the  two.  Here  she 
saw  nothing  but  gentleness  and  tender  helpfulness;  here  she 
heard  nothing  but  generous  criticism,  and  humorous  excuses  for 
human  faults,  and  laughter  with  no  sting  in  it;  here  she  was 
taught  nothing  but  toleration,  and  the  sinking  of  self,  and  the 
beauty  of  all  good  and  true  things.  Then,  she  did  not  know  she 
was  being  taught  any  more  than  her  teachers  knew  they  were 
teaching  her ;  for  one  of  them  spoke  to  her  only  by  way  of  her 
own  example,  which  was  that  of  all  sweetness  and  charity,  and 
the  other  was  so  little  of  a  lecturer  that  he  shocked  his  own 
pupil  by  his  whimsical  extravagances  and  incorrigible  laughter. 
If,  as  Miss  Main  was  convinced,  this  girl  had  no  soul,  she  could 
not  have  come  to  a  better  place  to  get  some  sort  of  substitute. 

Next  morning  James  Drummond  went  round  and  saw  Miss 
Main.  That  patient,  hard-working,  and  hardly  tried  little  woman 
confessed  frankly  that  she  herself  would  be  quite  willing  to  have 
Miss  North  come  back,  but  she  feared  the  effect  on  her  other 
pupils  of  condoning  so  great  an  offense.  However,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond talked  her  over;  and  an  arrangement  having  been  come  to 
about  the  public  apology  Miss  North  was  to  make,  he  went  back 
home. 

Miss  North  had  just  come  in  breathless.  She  had  run  half  a 
mile  down  hill,  to  the  shops  of  Camberwell,  and  half  a  mile  back, 
since  he  had  gone  out :  she  would  not  tell  him  why. 

Well,  she  went  round  to  the  seminary  in  due  course ;  and  in 
the  midst  of  an  awful  silence  she  walked  up  the  middle  of  the 
floor  to  Miss  Main's  table. 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR   THE    FLAME.  31 

"  Miss  Main,  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon  for  my  conduct  of 
yesterday,  and  I  wish  to  be  allowed  to  apologize  to  the  whole 
school." 

"You  may  go  to  your  seat,  Miss  North,"  said  the  school- 
mistress, who  was  a  nervous  little  woman,  and  glad  to  get  it  over. 

Miss  North,  with  great  calmness  of  feature,  but  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  a  latent  laugh  in  her  fine  dark  eyes,  walked  sedately 
and  properly  to  her  seat,  and  opened  her  desk.  With  the  lid 
well  up,  she  deposited  inside  a  curious  little  collection  of  oddities 
she  had  taken  from  her  pocket  —  including  a  number  of  little 
paper  pellets,  a  small  tin  goblet,  and  a  wooden  monkey  at  the 
end  of  a  stick. 

The  pellets  were  crackers  which  she  could  jerk  with  her  fin- 
ger and  thumb  to  any  part  of  the  room,  and  which  exploded  on 
falling. 

The  toy  goblet  had  a  bit  of  string  attached,  and  was  intended 
for  the  cat's  tail. 

The  wooden  monkey  was  an  effigy,  to  be  suddenly  presented  to 
the  school  whenever  Miss  Main's  back  was  turned. 

These  had  been  the  object  of  Miss  Violet's  sudden  race  down 
to  Camberwell  and  back ;  so  it  was  sufficiently  clear  that  that 
young  lady's  remorse  over  her  evil  deeds  was  not  of  a  very  serious 
or  probably  lasting  character. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FLUTTERINGS    NEAR    TUB    FLAME. 


A  secret  rumor  ran  through  the  school  that  Violet  North  had 
not  only  got  a  sweetheart,  but  was  also  engaged  in  the  composi- 
tion of  a  novel.  As  regards  the  novel,  at  least,  rumor  was  right ; 
and  there  is  now  no  longer  any  reason  for  suppressing  the  follow- 
ing pages,  which  will  give  an  idea  of  the  scope  and  style  of  Miss 
North's  story.  The  original  is  written  in  a  clear,  bold  hand,  and 
the  lines  are  wide  apart — so  wide  apart,  indeed,  that  the  observant 
reader  can,  if  he  chooses,  easily  read  between  them. 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  May,  and  the  golden  sunshine 
was  flooding  the  emerald  meadows  of  D ,  an  ancient  and  pict- 


32  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

uresquc  village  about  'two  miles  nearer  London  than  the  C 

P .     Little  do  the  inhabitants  of  that  great  city,  who  lend 

themselves  to  the  glittering  follies  of  fashion — little  do  they  reck 
of  the  verdant  beauties  and  the  pure  air  which  are  to  be  had  al- 
most within  the  four-mile  radius.  It  was  on  such  a  morning  that 
our  two  lovers  met,  far  away  from  the  haunts  of  men,  and  living 
for  each  other  alone.     In  the  distance  was  a  highway  leading  up 

to  that  noble  institution,  the  C P ,  and  carriages  rolled 

along  it;  and  at  the  front  of  the  stately  mansions  high -born 
dames  vaulted  upon  their  prancing  barbs  and  caracoled  away  to- 
ward the  horizon.*  Our  lovers  paid  no  heed  to  such  pomps  and 
vanities;  they  were  removed  above  earthly  things  by  the  sweet 
companionship  of  congenial  souls;  they  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of 
their  own,  and  breathed  a  delight  which  the  callous  votaries  of 
fashion  could  neither  understand  nor  share. 

"  Virginia  Northbrook  was  the  name  of  the  one.  Some  would 
have  called  her  rather  good-looking ;  but  it  is  not  of  that  we  mean 
to  boast.  We  would  rather  speak  of  the  lofty  poetry  of  her  soul, 
and  of  her  desire  to  be  just  and  honorable,  and  to  live  a  noble 
life.  Alas  !  how  many  of  us  can  fulfill  our  wishes  in  that  re- 
spect? The  snares  and  temptations  of  life  beset  us  on  every  side 
and  dog  our  footsteps ;  but  enough  of  this  moralizing,  gentle 
reader  :  we  must  get  on  with  our  story. 

"  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  baronet,  not  a  man  of  high  line- 
age, but  one  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  fixed.  He  had 
accelerated  the  industries  of  his  native  land  in  opening  up  stu- 
pendous commercial  highways,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  globe  his 
advice  was  sought.  Alas !  he  was  frequently  away  from  home, 
and  as  his  second  wife  was  a  wretched  and  mean-spirited  creature, 
Virginia  Xorthbrook  may  be  considered  to  have  been  really  an 
orphan. 

"  The  other  of  our  two  lovers  was  called  Gilbert  Mount-Dun- 
das.  Neither  was  he  of  high  lineage ;  but  a  grand  nobility  of 
nature  was  stamped  on  his  forehead.     His  father  had  attained  to 

*  This  sentence,  or  the  latter  half  of  it,  may  recall  a  passage  in  a  famous 
novel  which  was  published  two  or  three  years  ago ;  and  I  hasten  to  say  that 
Miss  North  had  really  never  read  that  work.  The  brilliant  and  distinguished 
author  of  the  novel  in  question  has  so  frequently  been  accused  of  plagiarism 
which  was  almost  certainly  unconscious,  that  I  am  sure  he  will  sympathize 
with  this  young  aspirant,  and  acquit  her  of  any  intentional  theft. 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR    THE    FLAME.  33 

great  fame  through  his  labors  in  the  cause  of  benevolence  and 
charity ;  bat  it  is  not  necessary  to  import  him  into  our  story. 
Gilbert  Mount-Dun  das  was  yet  young ;  but  his  mind  was  fired 
by  great  ambitions,  and  what  more  necessary  to  encourage  these 
than  the  loving  counsel  and  worship  of  a  woman  ?  Ah,  woman, 
woman,  if  you  could  understand  how  we  men  are  indebted  to  you 
when  you  cheer  us  onward  in  the  hard  struggle  of  life !  A  min- 
istering angel  thou,  truly,  as  the  poet  writes.  If  thou  couldst  per- 
ceive the  value  which  we  place  on  thy  assistance,  then  thou  wouldst 
never  be  capricious,  coy,  and  hard  to  please.  Mais  revenons  a  nos 
moutons. 

"  It  would  be  a  difficult,  nay,  an  invidious,  task  to  describe  the 
manner  in  which  our  two  lovers  became  acquainted  with  each  oth- 
er. Suffice  it  to  say  that,  although  the  world  might  look  coldly 
on  certain  informalities,  their  own  soals  informed  them  that  they 
had  no  cause  to  blush  for  their  mutual  acquaintance,  an  acquaint- 
ance which  had  ripened  into  knowledge,  esteem,  and  love  !  Not 
for  these  two,  indeed,  was  the  ordinary  commonplace  history  of  a 
courtship  and  marriage ;  which,  as  the  gentle  reader  knows,  is  an 
introduction  at  a  dinner-table,  a  lot  of  foolish  conversation  always 
under  the  eyes  of  friends,  an  engagement  with  every  body's 
knowledge  and  consent  (including  the  lawyer's),  and  a  marriage  to 
be  advertised  in  the  newspapers !  No,  no  ! — there  is  still  some 
romance  in  this  cold  and  heartless  world ;  and,  whatever  harsh 
critics  may  say,  we,  for  one,  have  no  intention  of  blaming  Gilbert 
Mount-Dundas  and  Virginia  Northbrook  simply  because,  forsooth  ! 
the  whole  host  of  their  friends  did  not  happen  to  be  present. 
And  yet — for  who  knows  into  whose  hands  these  pages  may  not 
fall  ? — we  must  guard  against  a  misconception.  We  are  not  of 
those  who  scorn  the  ceremonies  of  our  social  life — far  from  it; 
and  we  would  not  be  understood  as  recommending  to  the  youth 
of  both  sexes  a  lofty  contempt  for  the  proper  convenances.  Tout 
au  contraire.  In  our  opinion,  a  young  lady  can  not  be  too  partic- 
ular as  to  the  acquaintances  she  makes  ;  and,  in  fact,  the  way  some 
girls  will  giggle  and  look  down  when  young  gentlemen  pass  them 
in  the  street  is  shocking,  and  perfectly  disgusting.  They  ought 
to  remember  they  are  not  servant-maids  on  their  Sunday  out.  A 
school-mistress  is  not  doing  her  duty  who  does  not  check  such 
unlady-likc  conduct  at  once  ;  and  it  is  all  nonsense  for  her  to  pre- 
tend that  she  does  not  see  it.     I  know  very  well  she  sees  it ;  but 


34  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

she  is  nervous,  and  afraid  to  interfere,  lest  the  girls  should  sim- 
ply deny  it,  and  so  place  her  at  a  disadvantage.  Wc  will  recur  to 
this  subject  at  a  future  time. 

"It  was,  alas  !  but  to  say  farewell  that  Virginia  Northbrook 
and  Gilbert  Mount-Dundas  had  met.  Such  was  the  hard  fate  of 
two  who  had  known  the  sweet  companionship  of  love  for  a  period 
far  too  short;  but  destiny  marches  along  with  an  unpitying  stride, 
and  wc  poor  mortals  are  hurried  along  in  the  current.  Tears 
stood  in  the  maiden's  eyes,  and  she  would  fain  have  fallen  on  her 
knees,  and  besought  him  to  remain  ;  but  he  was  of  tinner  mettle, 
and  endeavored  to  be  cheerful,  so  that  lie  might  lessen  the  agony 
of  their  farewell. 

"  '  Oh,  my  Gilbert !'  she  exclaimed,  '  when  shall  I  see  you  once 
more  ?  Your  path  is  clouded  over  with  dangers ;  and,  scan  as  I 
may  the  future,  I  see  no  prospect  of  your  return.  Do  you  know 
that  beautiful  song  which  says, 

"  '  Shall  we  walk  no  more  in  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
Till  the  sea  gives  up  her  dead  ?' 

"  He  was  deeply  affected ;  but  he  endeavored  to  conceal  his 
grief  with  a  smile. 

"  '  What !'  said  he,  in  a  humorous  manner.  '  When  we  meet, 
I  hope  it  won't  be  in  wind  and  rain.  We  have  had  enough  of 
both  this  spring.' 

"  She  regarded  him  with  surprise ;  for  she  saw  not  the  worm 
that  was  corroding  his  heart  under  this  mask  of  levity.  And  here 
it  might  be  well  to  remark  on  the  danger  that  is  ever  attendant 
on  those  who  are  ashamed  of  their  emotions,  and  cloak  them  in  a 
garb  of  indifference  or  mockery.  Alas  !  what  sad  mistakes  arise 
from  this  cause  !  The  present  writer  is  free  to  confess  that  he  is 
acquainted  with  a  gentleman  who  runs  a  great  risk  of  being  mis- 
understood by  a  hollow  world  through  this  inveterate  habit.    We 

believe  that  no  truer-hearted  gentleman  exists  than  J D , 

although  he  is  not  what  a  foolish  school-girl  would  call  an  Adonis  ; 
but  how  often  he  perplexes  his  best  friends  by  the  frivolous  man- 
ner in  which  he  says  the  very  opposite  of  the  thing  which  he 
really  intends !  It  is  very  annoying  not  to  know  when  a  person 
is  serious.  If  you  make  a  mistake,  and  treat  as  serious  what  is 
meant  to  be  a  joke,  you  look  foolish,  which  is  not  gratifying  even 
to  the  most  stoical-minded  ;  whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  you  may 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR    THE    FLAME.  35 

treat  as  a  joke  something  that  is  really  serious,  and  offend  the 
feelings  of  persons  whom  you  love.  No,  youthful  reader,  if  I  may 
be  bold  enough  to  assume  that  such  will  scan  these  pages,  candor 
and  straightforward  speech  ought  to  be  your  motto.  Magna  est 
Veritas,  said  the  wise  Roman. 

"  How  sadly  now  shone  the  sun  on  the  beautiful  meadows  of 

D ,  and  on  the  lordly  spires  of  the  C P ,  as  our  two 

lovers  turned  to  take  a  last  adieu !  He  was  going  away  into  the 
world,  to  conquer  fame  and  fortune  for  both ;  she  was  about  to 
be  left  behind,  to  nurse  an  aching  heart. 

"  '  Take  this  sixpence ;  I  have  bored  a  hole  in  it,'  observed  Vir- 
ginia. 

"  He  clasped  the  coin  to  his  breast,  and  smothered  it  with  a 
thousand  kisses. 

"  '  My  beloved  Virginia !'  he  cried,  '  I  Avill  never  part  with  it. 
It  will  remind  me  of  you  in  distant  lands,  under  the  flaming  skies 
of  Africa,  in  the  mighty  swamps  of  America,  and  on  the  arid 
plains  of  Asia.  Our  friendship  has  been  a  brief  one ;  but,  ah ! 
how  sweet !     Once  more,  farewell,  Virginia  !     Be  true  to  your 


vow 


"  He  tore  himself  away ;  and  the  wretched  girl  was  left  alone. 
We  must  pursue  her  further  adventures  in  our  next  chapter." 

Here,  then,  for  the  present,  end  our  quotations  from  Miss 
North's  MS.  work  of  fiction;  it  is  necessary  to  get  back  to  the 
real  facts  of  the  case.  To  begin  with,  the  relations  between  Vio- 
let North  and  the  young  gentleman  whom  she  met  on  the  Dul- 
wich  Road  were  much  less  intimate,  tender,  and  romantic  than 
those  which  existed  between  the  lofty  souls  of  Virginia  North- 
brook  and  Gilbert  Mount-Dundas.  Miss  Main's  young  ladies  were 
not  allowed  to  go  wandering  about  the  country  unattended  by 
any  escort,  however  brightly  the  sun  might  be  shining  on  the  em- 
erald meadows,  and  on  the  towers  of  the  C P .     Those 

of  them  who  were  boarders  as  well  as  pupils  were  marched  out  in 
pairs,  with  Miss  Main  and  Miss  North  at  their  head ;  and  no  one 
who  saw  them  would  have  imagined  for  a  moment  that  the  tall 
and  handsome  young  lady  was  only  a  school-girl.  When  they 
were  allowed  to  go  and  see  their  friends,  their  friends  had  to  send 
some  one  for  them.  But  to  this  rule  there  was  one  exception, 
which  seemed  innocent  and  trifling  enough.     Miss  Main  knew  of 


36  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

the  intimacy  between  Violet  North  and  the  mother  and  nncle  of 
little  Amy  Warrener;  and  she  very  warmly  approved  of  it,  for  it 
promised  to  exercise  a  good  influence  over  this  incorrigible  girl. 
Then  Mr.  Drummond's  house  was  only  about  a  dozen  doors  off ; 
and  when  Miss  Violet  chose  to  go  round  and  visit  her  friends  in 
the  afternoon,  as  she  frequently  did,  was  it  necessary  that  they 
should  be  at  the  trouble  of  sending  for  her  for  such  a  short  dis- 
tance ?  Mr.  Drummond  himself  invariably  accompanied  her  back 
to  the  school,  and  on  those  evenings  Miss  Main  found  that  she 
had  less  trouble  with  this  dreadful  pupil  of  hers. 

So  it  came  about  that  George  Miller  on  one  or  two  occasions 
had  the  good  fortune  to  run  againsl  Miss  Ninth  when  she  was 
actually  walking  out  alone.  On  the  first  occasion,  she  was  just 
going  into  James  Drummond's  house,  and  she  had  turned  round 
after  knocking  at  the  door.  For  a  second  the  young  man  stopped, 
embarrassed  as  to  what  he  should  do ;  while  she,  looking  rather 
amused,  graciously  and  coolly  bowed  to  him.  He  took  off  his 
hat;  and,  at  this  moment,  as  the  door  was  opened,  his  doubt  was 
resolved,  for,  with  a  frank  smile  to  him,  she  disappeared. 

On  the  next  occasion,  he  caught  her  a  few  yards  farther  down 
the  Grove,  and  made  bold  to  address  her.  He  said,  rather  tim- 
idly. 

"  Won't  you  recognize  our  acquaintance,  Miss  North  ?" 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  with  her  color  a  bit  heightened.  "I  bow  to 
you  when  I  see  you.     Isn't  that  enough  ?" 

"If  you  were  as  anxious  as  I  am  to  continue  our  acquaint- 
ance— "  said  he. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  anxious,"  she  said,  rather  proudly,  "  not  at  all 
anxious  to  continue  it  like  this,  anyway.  You  must  get  to  know 
my  friends  if  you  wish  to  know  me." 

She  was  for  moving  on ;  but  somehow  he  seemed  to  intercept 
her,  and  there  were  a  great  submission  and  entreaty  in  his  down- 
cast face. 

"  But  how  can  I,  Miss  North  ?  I  have  tried.  How  can  I  get 
an  introduction  to  them  ?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?"  she  said ;  and  then  she  bid  him  "  Good- 
afternoon,"  and  passed  on. 

Her  heart  smote  her  for  a  moment.  Was  it  right  to  treat  a 
faithful  friend  so?  But,  then,  she  was  not  herself  very  sensitive 
to  injury ;  she  did  not  suppose  she  had  mortally  wounded  him ; 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR   THE    FLAME.  37 

and  she  speedily  was  rejoicing  over  the  thought  that  the  most 
faithful  of  friends  ought  to  be  put  to  the  proof.  If  he  was  worth 
any  thing,  he  would  bear  wrong,  he  would  overcome  obstacles,  he 
would  do  any  thing  to  secure  and  perfect  this  idyllic  and  Platon- 
ic acquaintanceship.  If  he  was  only  an  ordinary  young  man,  he 
had  better  go  away. 

Mr.  George  Miller  was  only  an  ordinary  young  man ;  but  he 
did  not  go  away.  He  had  not  been  suddenly  inspired  by  any  ro- 
mantic attachment  for  the  young  lady  whom  he  had  met  in  the 
Dulwich  Road ;  but  he  had  been  greatly  struck  by  her  good 
looks  ;  he  was  rather  anxious  to  know  something  more  about  her ; 
and  then — for  he  was  but  twenty-two — there  was  even  a  spice  of 
adventure  in  the  whole  affair.  She  did  not  know  how  patiently 
and  persistently  he  had  strolled  all  about  the  neighborhood  in  or- 
der to  catch  an  occasional  glimpse  of  her ;  and  how  many  after- 
noons he  had  paced  up  and  down  beneath  those  large  elms  near 
the  head  of  Camberwell  Grove  before  he  found  out  the  hour  when 
she  generally  paid  her  visit  to  Mr.  Drummond's  small  household. 
It  was  some  occupation  for  him ;  and  he  had  none  other  at  pres- 
ent ;  for  his  father  was  then  looking  out  for  some  business  a 
share  in  which  he  could  purchase  and  present  to  his  son,  in  or- 
der to  induce  him  to  do  something.  Mr.  George  Miller  was  not 
averse  to  that  proposal.  He  had  grown  tired  of  idling,  riding, 
walking,  and  playing  billiards  all  day,  and  going  out  in  the  even- 
ing to  dull  dinners  at  the  houses  of  a  particular  clique  of  rich  com- 
mercial people  living  about  Sydenham  Hill.  It  would  be  better, 
he  thought,  to  go  into  the  City  like  every  body  else,  and  have  a 
comfortable  private  room  in  the  office,  with  cigars  and  sherry  in 
it.  Then  he  would  have  himself  put  up  at  one  of  the  City  clubs ; 
and  have  a  good  place  for  luncheon  and  an  afternoon  game  of 
pool;  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  lot  of  blithe  companions. 
He  knew  a  good  many  City  men  already ;  they  seemed  to  have 
an  abundance  of  spirits  and  a  good  deal  of  time  on  their  hands — 
from  1.30  onward  till  it  was  time  to  catch  the  train  and  get  home 
to  dinner. 

Meanwhile  this  little  adventure  with  a  remarkably  pretty  girl 
piqued  his  curiosity  about  her;  and  he  was  aware  that,  if  he  did 
succeed  in  making  her  acquaintance,  the  friendship  of  the  daugh- 
ter of  so  distinguished  a  man  as  Sir  Acton  North  was  worth  hav- 
ing.    He  did  not  go  much  farther  than  that  in  his  speculations. 


38  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

He  did  not,  as  some  imaginative  youths  would  have  done,  plan 
out  a  romantic  marriage.  He  had  met,  in  an  informal  and  curi- 
ous way,  a  singularly  handsome  girl,  whom  he  could  not  fail  to 
admire ;  and  there  were  just  those  little  obstacles  in  the  way  of 
gaining  her  friendship  that  made  him  all  the  more  desirous  to  se- 
cure it.  It  does  not  often  occur  to  a  somewhat  matter-of-fact 
young  man  of  twenty-two,  who  has  good  looks,  good  health,  and 
ample  provision  of  money,  that  he  should  sit  down  and  anxious- 
ly construct  the  horoscope  of  his  own  future.  To-day  is  a  fine 
day  in  spring,  and  the  life-blood  of  youth  runs  merrily  in  the 
veins :  to-morrow  is  with  the  gods. 

Yet  he  was  vexed  and  disappointed  when  he  left  her  on  this 
second  occasion.  She  was,  he  thought,  just  a  little  too  independ- 
ent in  manner  and  blunt  of  speech.  He  did  not  at  all  look  at 
their  relations  from  her  point  of  view.  If  she  had  told  him  that 
he  ought  to  be  her  knight-errant,  and  prove  himself  worthy  by 
great  sacrifices,  he  would  scarcely  have  understood  what  she 
meant.  Indeed,  a  consciousness  began  to  dawn  on  him  that  the 
young  lady  was  a  school-girl  only  in  name ;  and  that  there  was  a 
more  definite  character  about  her  than  is  generally  to  be  discov- 
ered in  a  young  miss  who  is  busy  with  her  Italian  verbs.  George 
Miller  was  in  a  bad  humor  all  that  evening ;  and  on  going  to  bed 
that  night  he  vowed  he  would  straightway  set  off  for  Wales  next 
morning,  and  Miss  Violet  North  might  go  hang,  for  aught  he 
cared. 

In  the  morning,  however,  that  wild  resolution  —  although,  in- 
deed, there  was  more  prudence  in  it  than  he  suspected  —  was 
abandoned ;  and  he  somewhat  listlessly  went  into  town,  to  see  if 
he  could  hunt  up  somebody  who  knew  Sir  Acton  North  person- 
ally. His  inquiries  had  to  be  conducted  very  cautiously ;  and 
there  was  something  of  interest  in  the  search.  Eventually,  too, 
that  day  he  failed ;  and  so,  as  he  had  to  get  back  to  Sydenham 
to  dress  for  an  early  dinner,  he  thought  he  would  go  out  to  Den- 
mark Hill  station  and  walk  across.  He  might  get  another  glance 
of  Violet  North,  and  it  was  possible  she  might  be  in  a  better  temper. 

Well,  he  was  going  up  Grove  Lane  when,  turning  the  corner, 
he  suddenly  found  himself  in  presence  of  Miss  North  and  another 
lady.  He  felt  suddenly  guilty ;  he  checked  his  first  involuntary 
impulse  to  take  off  his  hat ;  and  he  endeavored  to  pass  them  with- 
out any  visible  recognition. 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR   THE    FLAME.  39 

But  that  was  not  Violet  North's  way. 

"  Oh.  Mr.  Miller,"  she  said,  aloud,  "  how  do  you  do  ?" 

He  paused  in  time  to  prevent  Mrs.  Warrener  observing  his  ef- 
fort to  escape ;  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  rather  nervously  shook 
hands  with  her. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you,"  said  the  young  lady,  boldly,  "  to  Mrs. 
Warrener.     Mr.  Miller — Mrs.  Warrener." 

He  received  a  very  pleasant  greeting  from  the  little  fair-haired 
woman,  who  liked  the  look  of  the  young  man. 

"  What  a  beautiful  afternoon  it  is !"  said  he,  hastily.  "  And 
how  fine  those  fruit-trees  look  now!  We  deserve  some  good 
weather  after  such  a  winter.  Do  you — do  you  live  up  here,  Mrs. 
Warrener?" 

"  Oh  yes.  You  know  the  cottage  with  the  thatched  roof  near 
the  top  of  the  Grove  ?"  she  said.  She  began  to  think  that  this 
young  man  was  really  handsome. 

"  Of  course — every  one  about  here  knows  it.  What  a  charm- 
ing place  !  and  the  garden  you  must  have  behind !  Well,  don't 
let  me  hinder  you ;  it  is  a  beautiful  evening  for  a  walk.  Good- 
day,  Miss  North." 

He  ventured  to  shake  hands  with  her  ;  he  bowed  to  Mrs.  War- 
rener, and  then  he  turned  away — scarcely  knowing  what  he  had 
said  or  done. 

"  A  friend  of  your  father's,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Mrs.  Warrener  to 
Miss  Violet  as  they  passed  on. 

"  N-no,  not  exactly,"  said  the  girl,  looking  down. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  some  friends  of  yours  know  him." 

"  N-no,  not  exactly  that,  either." 

Then  she  suddenly  lifted  her  eyes,  and  said,  frankly, 

"  Mrs.  Warrener,  I  suppose  you'll  think  me  a  most  wicked 
creature;  but — but  it  is  better  you  should  know;  and  I  never 
saw  that  young  man  till  the  day  I  left  school  over  that  disturb- 
ance, you  remember — and  he  knows  no  one  I  know — and  I  was 
never  introduced  to  him  by  any  body." 

Each  sentence  had  been  uttered  with  increasing  desperation. 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  "  how  could  you  be  so  thought- 
less—  and  worse  than  thoughtless?  You  have  been  concealing 
your  acquaintance  with  this  young  man  even  from  your  best 
friends.     I — I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  it." 

"You  may  say  about  it  any  thing  you  please  —  except  that," 


40  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

said  the  girl,  indignantly.  "  I  deserve  every  thing  you  can  say 
about  me — only  don't  say  I  concealed  any  thing  from  you.  There 
was  nothing  to  conceal.  I  have  only  spoken  a  few  words  with 
him ;  and  the  last  time  I  saw  him  I  told  him  if  he  wanted  our 
acquaintance  to  continue  he  must  get  to  know  either  my  father 
or  some  of  my  friends.  There  was  nothing  to  conceal.  I  should 
be  ashamed  to  conceal — " 

At  this  point  it  seemed  to  occur  to  her  that  a  self-convicted 
prisoner  ought  not  to  lecture  the  judge  to  whom  he  is  appealing 
for  a  merciful  judgment. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  she  said,  in  a  humble  tone,  "  I  hope 
you  won't  think  I  tried  to  conceal  any  thing  of  importance  from 
you.  I  thought  it  would  be  all  cleared  up  and  made  right  when 
he  got  properly  introduced.  And  just  now,  when  he  did  not 
wish  to  compromise  me,  and  would  have  passed  without  a  word, 
I  thought  I  would  just  tell  you  how  matters  stood,  and  so  I 
stopped  him.     Was  there  any  concealment  in  that  ?" 

"  But  how  did  you  meet  him — where  did  you  meet  him  ?"  said 
Mrs.  "Warrener,  still  too  much  astonished  to  be  either  angry  or 
forgiving. 

"  I  saw  him  on  the  road  to  the  Crystal  Palace,"  said  Miss 
North.  "I  was  attacked  by  a  ferocious  dog — such  a  ferocious 
dog,  Mrs.  Warrener !  You've  no  idea  how  he  flew  at  me !  and 
Mr.  Miller  came  and  beat  him  and  drove  him  away." 

"  Then  you  know  his  name  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  !"  said  Miss  North,  quite  brightly.  "  I  am  sure  you 
must  have  heard  of  Mr.  George  Miller,  the  great  merchant  and 
philanthropist,  who  builds  churches,  and  gives  large  sums  of 
money  to  charities  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  Mrs.  Warrener  admitted. 

"  Then  that  is  his  son  !''  said  Violet,  triumphantly. 

"  But  you  know,  Violet,  Mr.  George  Miller's  philanthropy  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  have  formed  the  acquaintanceship  of  his 
son  in  this  manner.     Where  did  you  see  him  next?" 

"At  the  Crystal  Palace,"  said  Violet,  and  the  burden  of  her 
confessions  seemed  growing  lighter.  "  I  was  very  hungry.  I 
had  to  go  and  get  something  to  eat  at  the  restaurant.  I  couldn't 
do  any  thing  else,  could  I  ?  Well,  the  waiters  weren't  attending 
to  me ;  and  Mr.  Miller  was  there ;  and  he  helped  me  to  get  some- 
thing; to  eat.     Was  there  anv  harm  in  that  ?" 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR   THE    FLAME.  41 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  not  going  to  answer  offhand ;  but,  as  she 
felt  that  she  almost  stood  in  the  light  of  a  parent  toward  the  girl, 
she  was  determined  to  know  exactly  how  matters  stood. 

"  Has  he  written  to  you,  or  have  you  written  to  him  ?" 

"  Certainly  not !" 

"He  knows  your  name,  and  who  you  are?" 

"  Yes." 

So  far  the  affair  was  all  clear  and  open  enough ;  and  yet  Mrs. 
AVarrener,  who  was  not  as  nimble  a  reasoner  as  her  brother,  was 
puzzled.  There  was  something  wrong,  but  she  did  not  know 
what.     By  this  time  they  had  got  back  to  the  house. 

"  Violet,  just  come  in  for  a  minute.  James  will  take  you  down 
to  the  school  by-and-by." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  the  girl,  with  sudden  alarm,  "  I  very 
much  wish  you  not  to  say  any  thing  about  all  this  to  Mr.  Drum- 
mond !" 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  would  much  rather  you  said  nothing  !" 

"  Well,  I  can  not  promise  that,  Violet ;  but  I  will  not  speak  of 
it  to  him  just  yet." 

They  entered  the  parlor,  which  was  empty,  and  Violet  sat  down 
on  a  chair  looking  less  bold  and  defiant  than  usual,  while  her 
friend,  puzzled  and  perturbed,  was  evidently  trying  to  find  out 
what  she  should  do. 

"  What  I  can't  understand  is  this,  Violet,"  she  said,  hitting  by 
accident  on  the  kernel  of  the  whole  matter.  "  What  object  was 
there  in  his  or  your  wishing  to  continue  an  acquaintance  so  odd- 
ly begun?  That  is  what  I  can't  understand.  Men  often  are  of 
assistance  in  such  trifles  to  ladies  whom  they  don't  know ;  but 
they  do  not  seek  to  become  friends  on  the  strength  of  it.  Why 
does  he  wish  to  know  you,  and  why  should  you  tell  him  to  go 
and  get  some  proper  introduction  to  you  ?" 

"  I  did  not  tell  him  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  said  Miss  Violet, 
respectfully,  but  very  proudly.  "  I  told  him  that  if  he  wished  to 
speak  to  me  in  the  future,  he  must  go  and  get  some  proper  intro- 
duction. But  do  you  think  I  asked  him  to  come  and  see  me? 
Certainly  not.     What  is  it  to  me  ?" 

She  was  obviously  much  hurt. 

"Then  why  should  you  continue  this — this — clandestine  ac- 
quaintance, Violet?"  Mrs.  Warrener  asked,  timidly. 


42  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  clandestine  acquaintance,"  the 
girl  said,  warmly.  "  But  if  Mr.  Miller  wishes  to  add  another  per- 
son to  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance,  am  I  to  forbid  him  ?  Is 
there  any  harm  in  that  ?  Don't  you  sometimes  see  people  whom 
you  would  like  to  know  ?  And,  then,  if  he  could  not  at  the  time 
get  any  one  to  introduce  him  to  me  in  the  usual  way,  his  getting 
to  know  you  was  quite  as  good ;  and  now,  if  you  choose  to  do  so, 
you  can  take  away  all  the  clandestine  look  from  our  acquaintance. 
You  have  seen  him.     You  could  ask  him  to  call  on  you." 

Mrs.  Warrener  seemed  to  shrink  in  dismay  from  this  bold  pro- 
posal. But,  before  she  could  answer,  Violet  North  had  hastily, 
and  with  some  confusion,  corrected  herself. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  I  don't  wish  you  to  ask  him 
to  call  on  you  —  not  at  all.  But  when  you  speak  of  our  clan- 
destine acquaintance,  here  is  an  easy  way  of  making  it  not  clan- 
destine." 

"  No,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  with  unusual  firmness,  "  I  can 
not  do  that.  I  could  not  assume  such  a  responsibility.  Before 
making  such  an  acquaintance  in  this  extremely  singular  way,  you 
ought  to  ask  your  mamma." 

"  Haven't  got  any,"  said  Miss  North,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Or  some  one  qualified  to  give  their  sanction." 

"  I  don't  know  any  one  so  wrell  as  I  know  you,"  said  the  girl ; 
and  then  she  said,  "  But  do  you  think  I  am  begging  of  you  to 
patronize  that  young  man  ?  I  hope  not.  Mrs.  Warrener,  I  think 
I  had  better  go  down  now." 

At  this  moment  James  Drummond  made  his  appearance,  an  old 
brown  wide-awake  on  his  head. 

"Ah,  well,  Miss  Violet;  no  more  singing  at  Dixie's  Land,  eh? 
You  have  never  been  in  Dixie's  Land,  I  suppose.  But  were  you 
ever  in  the  Highlands?  Have  you  ever  seen  the  mountains  and 
lochs  of  the  West  Highlands  ?" 

"I  have  heard  of  them,"  Miss  North  said,  coldly.  She  was 
very  far  from  being  pleased  at  the  moment. 

"  Now  do  sit  down  for  a  moment  till  I  open  out  this  plan  be- 
fore you.  That  is  better.  Well,  I  think  we  shall  take  no  less 
than  two  months'  holiday  this  autumn,  August  and  September,  and 
I  have  my  eye  on  a  small  but  highly  romantic  cottage  in  the  High- 
lands, connected  with  which  are  some  little  shooting  and  fishing; 
plenty  of  fishing,  indeed,  for  there  are  a  great  many  fish  in  the 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR    THE    FLAME.  43 

sea  up  there.  Now,  Miss  Violet,  do  you  think  you  could  per- 
suade your  father  and  Miss  Main  to  let  you  come  with  us  part  of 
the  time  ?  It  must  be  very  wretched  for  you  spending  your  holi- 
days every  year  at  school." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Miss  Violet,  with 
great  dignity.  "  It  is  very  kind  of  you ;  you  are  always  kind ; 
but  if  my  friends  are  not  fit  to  be  introduced  into  your  house, 
then  neither  am  I." 

He  stared  in  astonishment,  and  then  he  looked  at  his  sister, 
whose  pale  and  gentle  face  flushed  up.  Miss  Violet  sat  calm  and 
proud ;  she  had  been  goaded  into  this  declaration. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  James,"  cried  his  sister,  "  I  thought  Violet  did  not  wish 
you  to  know ;  but  now  I  will  tell  you,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  say 
I  am  right.  It  is  no  disrespect  I  have  for  the  young  man.  I 
liked  his  appearance  very  much — but — " 

"  What  young  man  ?" 

Then  the  story  had  to-be  told;  and  if  Miss  North  had  been  in 
a  better  temper  she  would  have  acknowledged  that  it  was  told 
with  great  fairness,  gentleness,  and  consideration.  James  Drum- 
mond put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stretched  out  his  long 
legs. 

"  Well,  Violet,"  said  he,  in  his  quiet  and  kindly  way,  "  I  can  un- 
derstand how  you  should  feel  hurt,  if  you  suppose  for  a  moment 
that  my  sister  thinks  you  wish  us  to  ask  that  young  man  here 
for  your  sake.  But  you  are  quite  wrong  if  you  assume  that  to 
be  the  case.  We  know  your  pride  and  self-respect  too  much  for 
that.  On  the  other  hand,  might  not  this  Mr.  Miller  consider  it 
rather  strange  if  we  asked  him  to  come  here  to  meet  you  ?  You 
see—" 

"  I  don't  wish  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  Do 
you  think  I  wish  to  meet  him  ?  What  I  wish  is  this — that  you 
should  not  talk  of  clandestine  acquaintanceship  when  I  offer  to 
introduce  him  to  you,  and  when  you  can  get  to  know  him  if  you 
please." 

He  was  too  good-natured  to  meet  the  girl's  impatience  with  a 
retort.     He  only  said,  in  the  same  gentle  fashion, 

"Well,  I  think  you  have  tumbled  by  accident  into  a  very  awk- 
ward position,  Violet,  if  I  must  speak  the  truth,  and  I  would 
strongly  advise  you  to  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  Mr.  Mil- 


44  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

ler,  however  amiable  the  young  man  may  be,  unless  you  should 
meet  him  at  the  house  of  one  of  your  friends." 

"  I  go  to  so  many  friends'  houses !" 

"How  can  you  expect  to  go?  You  are  at  school:  your  whole 
attention  should  be  taken  up  with  your  lessons." 

"I  thought  even  school -girls  were  allowed  to  have  friends. 
And  you  know  I  am  kept  at  school  only  to  be  out  of  the  way." 

She  rose  once  more :  the  discussion  was  obviously  profitless. 

"  I  don't  think  I  need  trouble  you  to  come  down  with  me,  Mr. 
Drummond,"  said  she,  with  much  lofty  courtesy  of  manner. 

"  I  am  going  with  you,  whether  you  consider  it  a  trouble  or 
not,"  said  he,  laughing. 

She  somewhat  distantly  bid  Mrs.  "Warrener  good-bye;  and 
that  fair-haired  little  woman  was  grieved  that  the  girl  should  go 
away  with  harsh  thoughts  of  her  in  her  heart.  As  for  Mr.  Drum- 
mond, when  he  got  outside,  he  was  determined  to  charm  away 
her  disappointment,  and  began  talking  lightly  and  cheerfully  to 
her,  though  she  paid  but  little  heed. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  you  always  disgust  people  by  giving  them 
good  advice  ;  but  you  wouldn't  have  us  give  you  bad  advice,  Vio- 
let? Now,  you  will  be  a  reasonable  young  lady;  and  by  to-mor- 
row morning  you  will  see  that  we  have  acted  all  round  in  a 
highly  decorous  and  proper  fashion ;  and  if  you  try  to  gain  Miss 
Main's  good-conduct  prize  this  session,  I  will  ask  her  to  put  you 
down  a  hundred  marks  on  account  of  certain  circumstances  that 
have  come  to  my  knowledge,  though  I  can't  reveal  them.  That 
is  settled ;  is  it  not  now  ?  So  your  father  has  come  back  to  Lon- 
don :  I  see  he  was  in  a  deputation  at  the  Home  Office  yesterday. 
How  tired  he  must  be  of  railways !  or  does  he  languish  when  he 
has  to  stop  in  town  three  days  running?  Do  you  know,  I  once 
heard  of  a  boatman  at  Brighton  —  one  of  those  short  and  stout 
men  who  pass  their  lives  in  leaning  over  the  railings  of  the  Parade 
— and  somebody  went  and  died  and  left  him  a  public-house  in 
the  Clapham  Road.  You  would  think  that  was  a  great  advance 
in  life  ?  I  tell  you  he  became  the  most  miserable  of  men.  He 
got  no  rest ;  he  moved  about  uneasily ;  and  at  last,  when  the 
place  was  killing  him,  he  happened  to  put  up  a  wooden  railing  in 
front  of  the  public-house  just  where  the  horses  used  to  come  and 
drink  at  the  trough,  and  quite  by  accident  he  found  it  was  a  cap- 
ital place  to  put  his  elbows  on  and  lean  over.     I  declare  to  you 


FLUTTERINGS    NEAR    THE    FLAME.  45 

he  hadn't  lounged  on  that  railing  twenty  minutes  when  all  the 
old  satisfaction  with  life  returned  to  his  face ;  and  any  day  you'll 
see  him  lounging  there  now,  looking  at  the  horses  drinking. 
That  shows  you  what  custom  does,  doesn't  it  ?" 

Of  course,  there  was  no  such  thing — no  such  boatman  or  pub- 
lic-house in  the  Clapham  Road;  but  it  was  a  peculiarity  of  this 
talker  that  when  once  he  had  imagined  an  anecdote  he  himself 
almost  took  it  to  be  true.  He  did  not  mean  to  deceive  his  list- 
ener. If  this  thing  had  not  happened,  how  did  he  know  of  it  ? 
The  creations  of  his  fancy  took  the  place  of  actual  experiences. 
His  sister  never  could  tell  whether  he  had  really  seen  certain  things 
during  his  morning's  walk,  or  only  imagined  them  and  stuck  them 
in  his  memory  all  the  same. 

It  was  a  fine,  quiet  evening  up  here  among  the  green  foliage  of 
the  spring.  It  was  a  gray  twilight,  with  a  scent  of  the  lilacs  in 
the  cool  air ;  and  the  mighty  chestnut-trees,  the  spiked  blossoms 
of  which  looked  pale  in  the  fading  light,  seemed  to  be  holding 
these  up  as  spectral  lamps  to  light  the  coming  dusk.  It  was  still 
a  calm,  peaceable  evening ;  but  even  the  unobservant  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  could  remark  that  his  companion  was  not  at  all  attuned  to 
this  gentle  serenity.     Her  moody  silence  was  ominous. 

"You  will  come  round  and  see  us  to-morrow  afternoon?" 
said  he. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said,  with  her  hand  on  the  open  door. 

"  Now  be  a  sensible  girl,  Violet,  and  believe  me  that  we  have 
given  you  good  advice.  Don't  forget  what  I  said  to  you  ;  and 
come  up  to-morrow  evening  to  show  me  that  we  are  all  still  good 
friends." 

So  Mr.  Drumraond  walked  away  up  the  hill  again,  whistling 
absently ;  one  hand  in  his  trousers-pocket ;  his  hat  rather  on  the 
back  of  his  head;  and  an  unusual  gravity  of  thoughtfulness  in 
his  face.  Miss  Violet,  on  the  other  hand,  went  indoors,  and  up 
to  her  own  room.  She  was  the  only  boarder  in  the  place  who  had 
a  room  all  to  herself ;  but  on  this  Sir  Acton  North  had  insisted. 

She  threw  open  the  window,  and  sat  down  :  far  below  her  they 
had  lighted  a  street-lamp,  and  there  was  a  curious  light  shining 
on  the  lower  branches  of  the  chestnuts.  The  sound  of  one  or  two 
people  walking  in  the  distance  seemed  to  increase  the  stillness  of 
the  night ;  and  one  would  not  have  been  surprised  to  find  the 
first  faint  glimmer  of  a  star  in  the  darkening  heavens. 


46  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

Peace  enough  without,  but  a  fierce  fire  of  wrath  within. 

"  They  have  done  it  now,"  she  was  saying  to  herself.  "  Yes, 
they  have  done  it.  I  gave  them  the  chance,  and  wished  to  be  as 
proper  in  my  conduct  as  any  body  could  be ;  but  now  they  have 
driven  me  to  something  very  different.  I  don't  want  to  sec  him 
— I  dare  say  I  shall  hate  him  when  I  see  him ;  but  I  will  see  him 
— and  I  will  meet  him  whenever  he  likes;  and  I  will  write  let- 
ters to  him  till  two  in  the  morning ;  and  if  they  won't  let  me 
make  friends  in  the  ordinary  way,  I  will  make  friends  for  myself 
in  some  other  way.     And  that  is  what  they  have  done !" 

So  the  wild  winds  of  folly  and  anger  and  unreason  blow  us 
this  way  and  that,  that  the  gods  may  have  their  sport  of  us ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES. 


A  sudden  change  came  over  the  tone  and  style  of  Violet 
North's  novel.  It  had  opened  in  a  gentle  and  idyllic  mood,  deal- 
ing with  the  aspirations  of  noble  souls  and  the  pathos  of  lovers' 
partings ;  it  was  now  filled  with  gloom,  revenge,  and  detestation 
of  the  world.  The  following  brief  extract  may  suffice  to  show 
the  artist's  second  manner,  and  has  other  significance  as  well : 

"  "When  we  bid  farewell  to  Virginia  Northbrook  in  a  previ- 
ous chapter,  she  had  been  up  to  that  moment  supported  by  the 
companionship  of  one  of  the  noblest  of  men ;  but  now,  when  she 
turned  away,  with  the  wild  tears  glittering  in  her  eyes,  she  felt, 
alas !  what  a  bitter  mockery  the  world  was,  and  her  young  and 
ardent  nature  was  shocked  and  wounded  by  the  cruel  selfishness 
of  her  fellow-creatures.     All  around  her  was  gloom.     No  longer 

did  the  cheerful  sun  light  up  the  emerald  meadows  of  D . 

Nature  sympathized  with  her  stricken  heart ;  even  the  birds  were 
silent,  and  stood  respectfully  aside  to  see  this  wretched  girl  pass. 
The  landscape  wore  a  sable  garb,  and  the  happy  insects  that  flew 
about  seemed  to  be  crushed  with  the  dread  of  an  impending 
storm. 

"  For  why  should  the  truth  be  concealed  ?     That  cruel  parting 


SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES.  47 

which  we  have  described  was  wholly  unnecessary ;  it  was  the  re- 
sult of  malice  and  selfishness  on  the  part  of  those  who  ought  to 
have  known  better;  they  had  determined  to  separate  our  two 
lovers ;  and  their  cunning  wiles  had  succeeded.  Alas  !  when  will 
the  heartless  worldling  learn  that  there  is  something  nobler  and 
higher  than  the  love  of  Mammon  and  the  hypocritical  gloss  which 
they  call,  forsooth,  respectability  ?  Why  should  not  two  young 
hearts  fulfill  their  destiny  ?  Why  should  they  be  torn  asunder 
and  cast  bleeding  into  an  abyss  of  misery,  where  hope  is  extin- 
guished, and  the  soul  left  a  prey  to  the  most  horrible  horrors  ? 

"  But  the  present  writer  must  guard  himself  against  being  mis- 
understood in  describing  Virginia  Northbrook's  desolate  condi- 
tion. She  was  alone,  and  the  cold  world  was  against  her;  but 
did  she  succumb  ?  No !  Her  spirit  was  of  firmer  mettle.  It 
was  a  singular  point  in  the  character  of  our  heroine  that  whereas, 
with  kindness  she  was  as  docile  as  a  lamb — and  most  grateful  to 
those  who  were  kind  to  her — cruelty  drove  her  into  desperation. 

When  she  parted  from  Gilbert,  and  took  her  way  home  to  C 

G ,  her  soul  was  more  dauntless  than  ever. 

" '  Do  they  think  they  have  conquered  me  ?'  she  cried  aloud, 
while  a  wild  smile  broke  over  her  features.  '  No  ;  they  will  learn 
that  within  this  outward  semblance  of  a  girl  there  is  the  daring 
of  a  woman !' 

"  Poor  misguided  creatui'e,  she  was  deceiving  herself.  She  was 
no  longer  a  woman — but  a  fiend !  Despair  and  cruelty  had  driv- 
en her  to  this.  Was  it  not  sad  to  see  this  innocent  brow  plotting 
deadly  schemes  of  revenge  on  those  who  had  parted  her  from 
her  lover,  in  deference  to  the  idle  prejudices  of  an  indifferent 
world  ? 

"  Yes,  reader ;  you  will  judge  as  to  whether  she  was  or  was 
not  justified ;  and,  oh !  I  appeal  to  you  to  be  merciful,  and  take 
into  consideration  what  you  were  at  her  age.  We  will  reserve 
for  another  chapter  a  description  of  the  plot  which  Virginia  in- 
vented, together  with  the  manner  in  which  she  carried  it  out." 

At  this  point  of  her  imaginary  life,  there  occurred  a  considera- 
ble hiatus;  for  her  real  life  became  more  full  of  immediate  and 
pressing  interest.  Violet  North  dispossessed  Virginia  Northbrook. 
The  details  of  the  plot  mentioned  above  must  be  put  in,  there- 
fore, by  another  and  less  romantic  hand. 


4S  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

First  of  all,  this  proud,  willful,  impetuous,  and  mischief-loving 
girl  suddenly  showed  herself  obedient,  attentive  to  her  school  du- 
ties, and  most  clearly  respectful  and  courteous  to  the  chief  mis- 
tress. Miss  Main  was  at  first  puzzled  and  suspicious ;  then  she 
was  overjoyed. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said  to  the  German  master,  "it  is  only  to  spite 
Miss  Wolf  that  she  means  to  take  the  good-conduct  prize,  as  she 
took  the  French  and  German  last  term ;  but  if  she  makes  up  her 
mind  to  it,  she  will  do  it." 

Then  all  the  girls  understood  that  Violet  North  meant  to  have 
the  good-conduct  prize ;  and  they,  too,  knew  she  must  have  it  if 
she  seriously  meant  to  gain  it. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  abrupt  reformation,  Miss  Main 
said  to  the  girl,  in  a  kindly  way, 

"  Miss  North,  why  don't  you  go  up  to  Mrs.  Warrener's,  as  you 
used  to  do  ?     Amy  has  not  told  mc  they  were  from  home." 

"  No,  Miss  Main,"  said  the  girl,  with  great  respect,  "  they  are 
at  home.  But — but  when  I  go  up  there,  it  seems  a  pity  I  should 
have  to  trouble  Mr.  Drummond  to  come  back  again  with  me.  It 
is  such  a  short  distance :  he  must  think  me  very  timid  or  foolish." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  school  -  mistress,  "  that  need  not 
bother  you.  The  distance  is  very  short  indeed.  You  might 
easily  run  down  here  by  yourself." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  North,  very  calmly.  "  That  is 
very  kind  of  you,  Miss  Main ;  for  one  does  not  like  to  be  a  trou- 
ble to  one's  friends." 

There  was  less  of  calm  respectfulness — there  was,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  proud  and  defiant  determination — on  her  face  when  she 
went  up-stairs  to  her  own  room.  There  she  sat  down  and  wrote 
out  three  copies  of  the  following  mysterious  announcement : 

"  Violet.  —  Is  G.  M.  ever  about  Champion  Hill  at  five  p.m.? 
V.  would  like  to  apologize  for  rudeness." 

She  must  have  contemplated  beforehand  sending  these  adver- 
tisements ;  for  she  was  already  supplied  with  postage-stamps  for 
the  purpose. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  this  that  Miss  North  met  Mr. 
George  Miller;  and  their  place  of  meeting  was  the  Champion 
Hill  mentioned  above. 

"  How   odd  vou  should   have  seen   the   advertisement !"  said 


SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES.  49 

she,  frankly  going  forward  to  him.     There  was  no  sort  of  em- 
barrassment in  her  manner. 

"  What  advertisement  ?"  said  he,  amazed. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  quickly  altering  her  tone,  "  it  was  nothing — a 
mere  trifle.  I  thought  I  had  been  rather  rude  to  you ;  and  I 
wished  to  apologize.  So  I  put  a  line  in  the  papers.  Now  I  have 
apologized  to  you — " 

"  Yes  ?"  said  he,  rather  puzzled. 

"Well,  there's  no  more  to  be  said — is  there?"  she  remarked. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  wish  to  bid  me  good-bye?"  said  he, 
rather  stiffly.  He  considered  that  this  young  lady's  manner  of 
treating  him  was  just  a  trifle  too  dictatorial. 

"  Ob,  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  indifferently.  "  What  were  you 
coming  about  here  for,  if  you  did  not  see  the  advertisement  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  might  see  you." 

She  smiled  demurely.     "At  the  head  of  the  school?" 

"Any  way.  Even  that  would  be  better  than  nothing,"  said 
he ;  for  she  was  very  pretty,  and  he  lost  his  head  for  the  moment. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  burst  of  good-nature,  "  since  I'm  not 
at  the  head  of  the  school,  I  will  walk  down  with  you  to  the  foot 
of  Green  Lane.     I  suppose  you  are  going  home  ?" 

"Y-yes,"  said  he,  doubtfully.  "I  wanted  to  tell  you  some- 
thing, if  there  was  an  opportunity." 

"  Pleasant,  or  not?  If  not,  don't  let  us  have  it,  please  ;  I  have 
enough  of  worry." 

"You — worry?"  said  he,  with  a  laugh.  "You  talk  as  if  you 
were  a  woman  of  thirty.  And,  indeed,  I  think  all  this  farce  of 
keeping  you  a  school -girl  ought  to  be  burst  up.  It  is  quite 
ridiculous.  You  ought  to  be  at  home,  or  in  some  one's  house, 
where  you  would  meet  people  and  be  allowed  to  make  friends — 
instead  of  slipping  out  like  this,  and  probably  getting  us  both 
into  trouble — " 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  shortly.  "What  was  it  you  were  going  to 
tell  me  ?" 

"  I  have  found  out  a  man  I  know  in  the  City  who  knows  Mr. 
Drummond,"  said  he,  "  and  he  proposes  to  introduce  us  to  each 
other  —  in  an  accidental  way,  you  understand.  Now,  will  that 
satisfy  you  ?" 

"  Satisfy  me  ?"  she  said,  turning  her  proud,  black  eyes  on  him 
with  an  air  of  surprise.     "  Have  I  been  anxious  to  be  satisfied?" 

3 


50  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  I  did  not  say  you  were,"  said  be,  tostily.  "  You  seem  bent 
on  a  quarrel." 

"  Ob  no,  I'm  not,"  sbe  answered,  with  one  of  those  quick  smiles 
that  could  disarm  even  the  awful  anger  of  an  outraged  school- 
mistress. "But  you  must  always  bear  in  mind,  if  you  wish  to 
see  me  at  all,  that  the  wish  is  on  your  side.  As  for  me — well,  I 
have  no  objection." 

"  You  are  very  proud." 

"  No ;  only  frank." 

"Well,  about  Mr.  Drummond — won't  that  satisfy  every  body? 
I  have  been  introduced  to  that  lady — what  is  her  name  ?" 

"  Warrener." 

"Tben  I  shall  make  his  acquaintance;  and  if  he  is  a  friendly 
sort  of  man,  I  will  ask  him  to  dine  with  me ;  and  very  likely  he 
will  do  the  same  by  me ;  and  I  am  sure  to  meet  you  at  his  house. 
Now,  is  that  all  right  ?" 

"  No,  all  wrong,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  smile.  "  They 
won't  have  any  thing  to  do  with  you." 

"  Did  you  tell  them  ?"  said  he,  with  sudden  alarm. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  remarked,  speaking  very  distinctly.  "  I  told 
them  that  I  had  accidentally  made  your  acquaintance  ;  that  you 
seemed  to  wish  to  continue  it;  and  that,  if  they  chose,  they  could 
be  friendly  and  take  you  under  their  charge." 

"And  what  did  they  say?" 

"  They  refused — too  much  responsibility." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  ?"  she  said,  with  a  bright  laugh.  "  I  mean  to  walk  down 
to  the  foot  of  Green  Lane  with  you,  and  then  go  back  to  the 
school.     Is  not  that  good-nature  enough  for  one  day  ?" 

"And  after  that — are  we  to  consider  our  acquaintance  at  an 
end  ?" 

"  As  you  please,"  said  she. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  propose  to  continue  this  hide-and- 
seek  way  of  meeting — this  slinking  round  corners  so  as  to  avoid 
being  caught?  Of  course,  it  is  very  romantic,  but  at  the  same 
time—" 

"At  the  same  time,"  said  she,  with  a  clear  emphasis  which 
rather  startled  him,  "  I  mean  to  say  a  word  to  you  that  you  must 
not  forget.  I  can  not  allow  you  to  assume  for  a  moment  that  I 
care  a  half-penny  whether  I  meet  you  or  whether  I  don't.     Do 


SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES.  51 

you  think  I  wish  to  play  at  hide-and-seek  ?  Now  please  don't 
talk  like  that  again." 

"  "Well,"  said  he,  rather  humbly,  "  I  no  sooner  propose  one 
way  of  putting  an  end  to  this  state  of  things  than  you  immedi- 
ately say  it  is  of  no  use,  and  seem  rather  glad.  Perhaps  you 
could  tell  me  another  ?" 

"  Oh  dear,  yes,"  said  she,  with  great  cheerfulness.  "  Why 
should  we  ever  meet  again  anywhere  or  anyhow  ?  Would  not 
that  solve  the  difficulty  ?" 

"  Very  well !"  said  he,  driven  to  anger  by  her  indifference  and 
audacious  light-heartedness.     "  It  is  better  so.     Good-bye !" 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  And  I  am  not  to  go  down  to  the  foot  of  the  lane  ?"  said  she, 
with  mock-heroic  sadness.     "  Ah,  well !  good-bye !" 

"  You  know  perfectly,"  said  he,  relenting,  "  that  I  am  anxious 
we  should  remain  friends.  And  what  is  the  use  of  your  being  so 
very — so  very — independent  ?" 

"  Then  I  am  to  go  down  to  the  foot  of  the  lane  ?"  said  she, 
with  charming  simplicity. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  think  you  are  the  most  willful  creature  I 
ever  met.  But  you  will  get  cured  of  all  these  whims  and  airs  of 
yours  some  day." 

"  And  who  will  cure  me,  pray  ?"  said  she,  with  sweet  resignation. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  somebody  will  have  to  do  it." 

By  this  time  they  were  going  down  the  steep  lane ;  the  young 
green  of  the  hawthorn  hedge  on  each  side  of  them  shining  in  the 
clear  spring  sunlight ;  the  low-lying  meadows  and  trees  of  Dul- 
wich  far  below  them,  and  softened  over  with  a  silver-gray  mist. 
In  a  few  minutes  more  they  would  part  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ; 
but  there  was  no  great  premonitory  sadness  on  her  frank,  young, 
handsome  face. 

"  What  is  amusing  you  ?"  said  he,  noticing  a  sort  of  demure 
laugh  under  the  beautiful  dark  eyelashes. 

"  Only  the  poor  invention  that  men  have,"  she  said.  "  You 
are  quite  cast  down  because  your  scheme  of  being  introduced 
to  Mr.  Drummond  won't  do.  Why,  a  woman  could  get  fifty 
schemes !" 

"  Then,  give  me  one  ?"  said  he. 

"I  am  only  a  girl.     Besides — how  often  must  I  tell  you? — it 


52  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

is  not  my  place  to  do  so.  But  I  was  thinking  to-day  how  easily 
I  could  meet  you  if  I  liked — not  for  a  few  minutes,  but  a  long 
time—" 

"  Could  you  ?"  said  he,  eagerly.  "  Could  you — could  you  get 
enough  time  to  come  for  a  long  walk,  or  a  drive  ?" 

"  I  could  get  away  for  a  whole  day !"  she  said,  boldly ;  but  she 
added,  quickly,  "  if  I  wished  it." 

"  Then,  won't  you  wish  it?"  said  he.  Look  what  a  splendid 
drive  we  could  have  just  now — the  best  time  of  the  year ;  and  I 
would  try  to  get  some  lady  I  know  to  come  for  you." 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  intro- 
ductions, and  relatives  and  friends,  and  asking  obligations.  If  I 
went  out  for  this  whole  day  it  would  be  to  show  them  how  little 
they  can  control  me  if  I  take  it  into  my  head  not  to  be  controlled. 
As  for  going  with  you,  I  think  I  would  rather  go  with  any  body 
else ;  only  there  would  be  no  mischief  in  going  with  any  body 
else." 

The  declaration  was  frank,  but  not  complimentary :  the  short 
time  he  had  known  this  young  lady  had  been  enough  to  make 
him  wish  she  had  just  a  little  less  plainness  of  speech. 

"  Well,  will  you  do  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  will,"  she  answered,  with  a  sudden  firmness  of 
look.  She  had  to  recall  all  her  imaginary  wrongs  to  nerve  her 
for  this  decision. 

"  When  ?" 

"  Next  Tuesday." 

"  And  where  shall  I  meet  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  must  drive  up  to  Miss  Main's  for  me,  and  come  into 
the  hall,  and  send  a  message." 

He  looked  so  horror-stricken  that  she  nearly  laughed ;  but  she 
maintained  a  business-like  air. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  is  there  any  thing  more  simple  ?" 

"  Surely  you  are  joking !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Miss  Main 
would  allow  you  to  go  out  driving  with  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  what  is  more,  she  will  probably  offer  you  a  glass 
of  sherry  and  a  biscuit  before  leaving.  If  you  take  the  sherry,  it 
will  give  you  a  headache." 

"  But  I  don't  understand—" 

"Of  course  not,"  she  said,  with  good-natured  indulgence.  "  I 
told  you  that  gentlemen  were  poor  in  invention.     But  you  will 


SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES.  53 

see  how  easily  I  can  arrange  all  this.  I  thought  of  it  just  to  show 
people  how  little  they  know  the  determination — but  I  needn't 
speak  about  that.  Well,  here  we  are  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ; 
good-bye  !" 

She  held  out  her  hand  carelessly. 

"  I  must  walk  back  with  you." 

"  No ;  a  compact's  a  compact." 

"  Then  I  am  to  bring  a  carriage  for  you  next  Tuesday  morning, 
and  come  right  up  to  the  door,  and  ask  for  Miss  North  ?  Is  that 
all?" 

"  Yes.     Come  about  half-past  eleven." 

Mr.  George  Miller  walked  away  in  great  perplexity.  He  had  a 
notion  that  this  wild  girl  had  a  great  fondness  for  practical  jokes. 
Might  she  not  be  awaiting  him  at  the  window,  along  with  her 
school-fellows,  to  receive  him  with  jeers  ? 

But,  then,  he  reflected,  she  was  not  likely  to  play  any  such  too 
notorious  prank  just  after  her  narrow  escape  from  expulsion.  lie 
took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  safe  from  ridicule — which  is  al- 
ways a  young  man's  first  thought — and  then  came  the  question 
as  to  the  other  risks  he  ran.  This  was  no  very  safe  project — to 
take  a  school-girl  away  for  a  day's  drive,  even  though  he  could 
plead  that  she  had  made  at  least  one  effort  to  introduce  him  to 
her  friends,  and  that  he  had  made  several  to  be  introduced.  On 
the  other  hand,  was  he  to  show  cowardice  where  a  girl  was  not 
afraid?  He  would  have  the  finest  pair  of  horses  he  could  hire 
for  that  Tuesday  morning ! 

As  for  her,  she  walked  lightly  and  briskly  up  the  hill — her  fine 
figure  giving  her  a  freeness  of  step  not  common  among  school- 
girls—  and  made  her  way  back  to  Miss  Main's  establishment. 
That  patient  lady  took  it  for  granted  that  her  pupil  had  been 
round  at  Mr.  Drummond's  house. 

Violet  North  went  to  her  own  room,  sat  down,  and  wrote  as 
follows : 

"Camberwell  Grove,  Thursday  Evening. 

"My  dear  Papa,  —  I  think  it  is  very  hard  that  your  own 
daughter  should  know  only  by  the  newspapers  of  your  return  to 
town.  Can  not  you  come  over  to  see  me  on  Saturday  ?  And 
my  money  is  nearly  all  gone. 

"  I  remain,  your  loving  daughter, 

"Violet." 


54  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Sir  Acton  North  was  an  exceedingly  busy  man,  who  had  not 
much  time  for  the  cultivation  of  his  domestic  duties  ;  but  he  liked 
this  wild  girl,  and  sometimes  considered  it  rather  a  pity  she  should 
have  no  home  but  a  boarding-school.  Busy  as  he  was,  he  took  a 
run  over  to  Camberwell  on  the  Saturday  morning,  and  had,  first  of 
all,  a  few  minutes'  interview  with  Miss  Main.  Miss  Main  treated 
this  big,  broad  -  shouldered,  white  -  bearded  man,  who  had  kindly 
gray  eyes,  and  something  of  a  Yorkshire  accent,  with  very  great 
respect.  Replying  to  his  inquiries  about  Violet's  conduct,  she 
only  remarked  that  of  late  it  had  been  excellent ;  she  made  no 
mention  of  the  recent  disturbance.  She  was  more  anxious  to  di- 
rect Sir  Acton's  attention  to  the  brilliant  greens  of  the  chestnuts, 
elms,  and  lilacs  outside ;  to  show  him  that  a  healthier  site  for  a 
school  could  not  have  been  chosen. 

Then  Miss  Violet  came  into  the  room,  and  the  school-mistress 
retired. 

"  Well,  girl,"  said  her  father,  after  kissing  her,  "  aren't  you  ever 
going  to  stop  growing  ?" 

"  I  have  had  plenty  of  time  to  grow  since  I  saw  you  last,"  she 
said,  with  an  air  which  showed  her  father  that  she  had  not,  at 
least,  outgrown  her  cool  frankness. 

"  And  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

"  I  suppose  a  girl  must  wish  to  see  her  father  sometimes,"  she 
remarked,  "  when  she  can  not  have  the  pleasure  of  admiring  her 
step-mother." 

"  Oh,  Vi,  Vi,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  which  was  not  calculated  to 
repel  her  free  frankness,  "  you  are  as  wicked  as  ever." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  forgotten  my  fondness  for  you,  papa,"  she 
said,  honestly,  going  forward  and  putting  her  arm  round  his  neck ; 
"  so  you  must  tell  me  all  you've  been  doing,  and  all  you're  going 
to  do." 

"  That  will  be  too  long  a  story,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  must  tell  you 
this — that  before  long  I  must  go  to  Canada,  and  very  likely  I 
may  have  to  stop  nearly  a  year  there." 

Now  what  was  it — some  unnamable  fear,  some  flash  of  a  better 
instinct  —  which  suddenly  changed  the  expression  of  the  girl's 
face,  and  made  her  cry  out, 

"  Oh,  papa,  couldn't  you  take  me  with  you  ?" 

"For  a  year?" 

"  For  twenty  years,  so  that  I  am  with  you.    I  hate  England  so !" 


SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES.  55 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  child !"  he  said,  good-humoredly,  and  re- 
leasing his  neck  from  her  arm.  "  Of  course,  a  girl  must  have  fits 
of  dullness  at  school ;  you'll  get  over  these  when  you  are  a  wom- 
an. So  you  want  some  more  pocket-money  ?  Is  your  last  quar- 
ter's allowance  run  out  already  ?" 

She  would  not  answer — she  was  proud  and  hurt.  He  would 
treat  her  as  a  child ;  he  would  not  see  she  was  earnest  in  that 
sudden  cry  to  be  taken  away  from  England. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he ;  "  put  this  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it,  Vi," 
and  he  gave  her  a  five-pound  note,  with  no  thought  of  the  impru- 
dence of  trusting  such  a  sum  of  money  to  the  discretion  of  an 
impetuous  school-girl. 

Somehow  a  change  had  come  over  the  manner  of  the  girl  even 
in  this  short  time.  She  had  met  him  with  that  gay,  defiant  spirit 
that  she  commonly  displayed  toward  persons  whom  she  regarded 
with  a  special  affection ;  then  for  a  second  or  two  she  seemed  to 
approach  him  with  an  unusual  yearning  of  sentiment.  Now  she 
was  proud,  cold,  matter-of-fact. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  will  you  excuse  me  for  a  moment?  I  wish 
to  speak  to  Miss  Main." 

She  left  the  room,  and  went  and  sought  out  Miss  Main.  The 
school-mistress  received  her  with  a  kindly  look :  she  was  pleased 
when  Sir  Acton  North  visited  the  school. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Main,"  said  Violet,  in  an  off-hand  way,  "  can  you  let 
me  have  a  holiday  next  Tuesday  ?" 

Now,  what  could  the  school-mistress  possibly  think  of  such  a 
request  but  that  it  was  one  of  the  utmost  innocence,  which  she  was 
bound  to  accede  to  ?  Here  was  a  girl  visited  by  her  father,  who 
rarely  came  to  town.  What  more  natural  than  that  he  should 
propose  to  take  the  girl  away  for  a  day  ? 

"  Certainly,  Miss  North,"  said  the  school-mistress.  "  I  suppose 
your  papa  will  send  for  you  ?" 

"  I  think  it  is  very  likely  Mr.  George  Miller  will  call  for  me," 
said  Miss  North,  with  a  business-like  air.  "  Of  course  you  know 
Mr.  George  Miller,  Miss  Main  ?" 

"  By  reputation,  undoubtedly.  I  wish  there  were  more  such  as 
he  in  London." 

"  Well,  they  live  not  far  from  here  ;  so  it  is  very  likely  he  will 
be  good  enough  to  call  for  me.  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  in- 
troducing him  to  you,  Miss  Main  ?" 


56  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  I  should  consider  it  an  honor,  Miss  Violet, "  said  the  simple- 
minded  school-mistress;  and  Miss  North  knew  she  was  in  high 
favor  when  she  was  called  Miss  Violet. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Miss  Violet ;  and  she  was  going 
back  to  her  father,  when  she  suddenly  turned.  "  Oh,  Miss  Main, 
my  papa  has  just  given  me  some  money ;  and  I  do  think  the 
feather  in  my  hat  is  getting  a  little  shabby.  Would  you  allow 
Elizabeth  to  go  down  with  me  to  the  shops  on  Monday  forenoon  ? 
I  wish  to  buy  a  few  things." 

"  I  will  go  down  with  you  myself,"  said  Miss  Main,  graciously. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  so  kind  of  you  !" 

"  Well,  girl,  what  do  you  mean  by  keeping  me  here  V  said  her 
father  when  she  returned.  "  Do  you  know  I  have  to  be  at  King's 
Cross  by  two  o'clock  ?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said.     "  Must  you  go  now  ?" 

"  Yes ;  good-bye,  child.  Mind  you  write  to  me  when  you  want 
more  money." 

She  kissed  him,  and  bid  him  good-bye. 

"  I  will  see  you  out,  papa.  Don't  ask  Miss  Main  to  come :  she 
is  busy.     Shall  I  see  you  before  you  go  to  Canada  ?" 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  of  course  !  Ta-ta !  Mind  you  behave 
yourself,  Vi ;  and  let  me  know  when  your  pocket-money  runs  out." 

After  he  had  gone,  his  daughter  had  to  return  to  her  classes 
and  lessons;  and  it  was  not  till  the  evening  she  found  herself 
with  a  little  spare  time  on  her  hands.  She  felt  unequal  at  the 
moment  to  continue  her  novel,  for  the  details  of  the  dark  plot 
that  had  been  invented  by  Virginia  Northbrook  wanted  deep  con- 
sideration. But  she  had  something  on  her  mind ;  and  she  came 
to  the  resolution  to  put  that  down  on  paper,  and  subsequently  to 
slip  it  into  the  story  whenever  she  got  a  chance.  Here  is  the 
passage  in  question,  written  with  some  appearance  of  haste : 

"  Virginia  Northbrook  hated  deception  ;  she  positively  loathed 
and  abominated  it.  The  present  writer  has  never  in  all  his  life 
met  with  a  human  being  who  was  as  anxious  as  this  girl  to  have 
a  clear  and  shining  candor  illuminating  her  soul.  And  why  ?  gen- 
tle reader ;  because  she  had  inherited  a  heritage  of  pride — a  fatal 
legacy,  perhaps,  but  it  was  hers  ;  and  her  ambition  was  to  be  able 
to  look  any  one  in  the  face  and  say  what  she  thought  without  con- 
cealment.    Alas !  we  now  find  her  compelled  to  stoop  to  subter- 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  57 

fuges.  Happiness  had  gone  from  her  mind ;  horrid  suspicion  had 
built  its  nest  there ;  the  cold  indifference  of  the  world  had  stung 
her  into  a  passion  of  revenge.  What  recked  she  of  the  mad  course 
she  was  pursuing,  when,  with  a  shout  of  demoniacal  laughter,  she 
called  out  aloud  in  her  own  room,  '  Vive  la  bagatelle  V  Let  us 
withdraw  for  a  time  from  this  sad  scene.  The  day  may  come 
when  we  may  behold  our  heroine  rescued  from  the  unjust  tyranny 
of  heartless  friends,  and  the  honorableness  of  her  heart's  thoughts 
demonstrated  to  the  light  of  day.  But  in  the  mean  time — alas, 
poor  worm !" 

Violet  North  was  so  much  affected  by  the  sorrows  of  her  her- 
oine that  she  was  almost  like  to  cry  over  them ;  although,  oddly 
enough,  her  sentimental  grief  seemed  to  wander  back  to  her  fa- 
ther's refusal  to  take  her  with  him  to  Canada. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CRABBED    AGE    AND    YOUTH. 


"  Sarah,  we  must  not  leave  that  girl  to  herself,"  said  James 
Drummond  to  his  sister.  He  had  put  aside  his  wide-awake,  and 
was  engaged  in  brushing  a  far  from  shiny  hat.  "  She  is  offended 
with  us ;  she  has  not  been  here  for  some  days.  We  shall  incur  a 
great  responsibility  if  we  let  her  go  her  own  way." 

"We  shall  incur  a  great  responsibility  if  we  interfere,"  said 
his  sister,  and  then  she  rebuked  herself  for  the  selfishness  of  her 
speech.  "  Yes,  I  must  go  down  to  the  school  and  see  her.  I 
am  sure  I  wish  she  would  go  into  some  convent,  or  some  institu- 
tion of  that  kind,  where  she  would  be  under  gentle  moral  teach- 
ing and  proper  discipline.  She  is  untamed  —  a  wild  animal  al- 
most—  with  some  fine  qualities  in  her;  and  yet  I  don't  know 
what  is  to  become  of  her." 

"A  convent!"  said  Drummond,  with  a  loud  laugh.  "She 
would  turn  the  place  into  a  pandemonium  in  a  week.  To  think 
of  it  now ! — wouldn't  it  be  delightful  ?  Violet  North  in  a  con- 
vent !  Fancy  the  scare  of  the  quiet  creatures  when  they  discov- 
ered they  had  among  them  a  whole  legion  of  demons — as  many 

3* 


58  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

as  you  see  in  "  St.  Anthony's  Temptation  :"  I  should  like  to  have 
a  peep  into  that  convent  occasionally  if  she  were  there.  Well, 
you'll  go  down  to  her,  Sarah.  Don't  preach  at  her :  rather  tell 
her  not  to  make  a  fool  of  herself.  Of  course,  she  is  only  hurt  and 
proud ;  she  can  not  really  care  for  this  young — what's  his  name  V 

"  George  Miller." 

"And  yet  don't  lecture  her  about  the  folly  of  a  young  girl  fall- 
ing in  love,  or  the  danger  of  it,  and  all  that.  She  won't  believe 
you  —  no  girl  will.  You  might  as  well  expect  to  keep  servants 
away  from  the  sherry  decanter  by  sticking  a  Poison  label  on  it. 
Don't  try  to  frighten  her;  for  there  is  nothing  that  girl  will  al- 
low to  frighten  her." 

Mr.  Drummond  put  on  his  carefully  brushed  but  not  brilliant 
hat,  and  went  out  into  the  warm  sunlight  of  this  May  morning. 
From  the  height  on  which  he  stood  he  could  see,  in  the  far  dis- 
tance, a  low-lying  mist  of  brown.  That  was  the  smoke  of  Lon- 
don City,  into  which  he  was  about  to  plunge — with  no  good  grace. 

And  yet  when  his  old  college-chum  Harding,  who  had  forsaken 
the  paths  of  learning  and  taken  to  tasting  teas  as  a  more  profita- 
ble pursuit,  happened  to  beg  of  him  to  come  into  the  City  and 
have  lunch  with  him,  he  rarely  refused.  Harding  lived  in  some 
remote  corner  of  Hornsey ;  so  the  two  friends  had  but  seldom  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  each  other  in  the  evening.  On  this  last 
occasion  Harding  had  been  specially  urgent  in  his  invitation — 
"A  friend  of  mine  wants  to  be  introduced  to  you,"  he  had  added. 

Drummond  called  at  the  office  in  Mincing  Lane,  and  his  short, 
stout,  brown-bearded  friend  put  on  his  hat  and  came  out. 

"  Who  is  the  man  ?"  said  Drummond,  carelessly,  as  they  went 
along. 

"  Who  wants  to  be  introduced  to  you  ?  Oh,  a  young  fellow 
called  Miller." 

"  George  Miller  ?"  said  Drummond,  suddenly  stopping  on  the 
pavement,  with  a  frown  of  vexation  coming  over  his  face. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  him  ?"  said  Harding,  with 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Did  he  tell  you  why  he  wished  to  be  introduced 
to  me  ?" 

"  No,  he  didn't." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Harding,  it's — it's  d — d  impertinent 
of  this  fellow—" 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  59 

"  My  dear  boy,  what's  the  matter  ?  You  do  know  him  ?  If  you 
don't  want  to  meet  him,  there's  no  reason  why  you  should.  We 
can  have  lunch  elsewhere.  He  asked  me  in  an  off-hand  way  if  I 
knew  you — asked  to  be  introduced,  and  so  forth.  But  there  is 
no  compulsion." 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Drummond, 
with  sudden  determination. 

"  I  tell  you,  man,  there  is  no  compulsion.     Let's  go  elsewhere." 

"  No,  I  want  to  be  introduced  to  him." 

"All  right:  the  same  as  ever — flying  round  like  a  weather- 
cock, jumping  about  like  quicksilver." 

They  went  into  a  spacious  restaurant,  where  a  large  number  of 
men,  mostly  with  their  hats  on,  were  attacking  large  platefuls  of 
rather  watery  beef  and  mutton.  Harding  was  known  to  many  of 
them ;  as  he  passed,  he  encountered  a  running  fire  of  pleasantries, 
which  he  returned  in  kind.  This  was  an  ordeal  which  Drum- 
mond, who  had  frequently  been  with  his  friend  to  the  place,  re- 
garded with  a  mild  wonder.  There  was  no  one  more  ready  than 
himself  for  fun,  for  railleiy,  for  sarcasm  even  of  a  friendly  sort ; 
but  this  sort  of  ghastly  wit,  with  no  light  or  life  in  it,  but  only  a 
crackling  of  dry  bones,  rather  puzzled  him.  Then  he  noticed  that 
his  friend  was  a  trifle  embarrassed  in  replying  to  it ;  apparently 
Harding  had  not  got  quite  acclimatized  in  the  City.  There  was 
neither  humor,  nor  drollery,  nor  epigram  in  this  sort  of  banter ; 
but  only  a  trick  of  inversion,  by  which  a  man  expressed  his  mean- 
ing by  saying  something  directly  the  opposite — a  patter,  indeed, 
not  much  more  intellectual  than  the  jabbering  of  inarticulate  apes. 
It  should  be  added,  however,  that  the  young  men  were  very  young 
men. 

"  Miller  hasn't  come  yet,"  said  Harding.  ■  •  What  is  the  matter 
between  you  two  ?" 

"  Nothing  :  I  never  saw  him.  But  I  know  why  he  wants  to 
be  introduced  to  me.     What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"  Oh,  well,  he  is  a  nice  enough  young  fellow,  who  has,  unfortu- 
nately, got  too  much  money  in  prospect,  and  consequently  does 
nothing.  But  now,  I  believe,  he  is  going  into  business — his  father 
means  to  buy  him  a  partnership." 

"But  —  but  —  what  sort  of  fellow  is  he?"  said  Drummond, 
who  had  no  interest  in  the  young  man's  commercial  prospects. 

"Well,  he  is  fairly  educated,  as  things  go — much  better  edu- 


60  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

cated  than  the  idle  sons  of  rich  business  men  ordinarily  are.  He 
sometimes  rather  gives  himself  airs,  as  to  his  gentlemanly  appear- 
ance and  instincts,  and  so  forth,  if  strangers  are  too  familiar  with 
him  in  the  billiard-room  up-stairs,  where  they  generally  have  an 
afternoon  pool  going  on.  He  is  inclined  to  look  down  on  us  poor 
devils  who  are  in  commerce ;  but  that  is  natural  in  the  son  of  a 
business  man.  He  is  free  with  his  money  —  that  is  to  say,  he 
would  give  you  a  gorgeous  banquet  if  he  asked  you  to  dinner ; 
but  it  would  take  a  clever  fellow  to  sharp  him  out  of  a  sixpence ; 
and  you  don't  catch  him  lending  sovereigns  to  those  hangers-on 
about  billiard-rooms,  who  are  always  ready  to  borrow,  and  never 
remember  to  pay.  I  think,  on  the  whole,  he  is  a  good  sort  of  fel- 
low. I  rather  like  him.  You  see,  he  is  very  young :  and  you  can 
put  up  with  a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  crude  opinion,  and  self- 
esteem,  and  all  that,  from  a  young  man.  ...  I  suppose  other 
people  had  a  good  deal  to  stand  at  our  hands  when  we  were  of 
the  same  age." 

"You  don't  think  he  would  do  any  thing  mean  or  dishonor- 
able?" 

"  I  think  his  own  good  opinion  of  himself  would  guard  against 
that,"  said  Harding,  with  a  laugh.  "Self-esteem,  and  not  any 
very  high  notion  of  morality,  keeps  many  a  man  from  picking  a 
pocket." 

"And  he  does  nothing  at  all?  He  has  no  particular  occupa- 
tion or  hobby  ?" 

"  No ;  I  think  he  is  an  idle,  careless,  good-natured  sort  of  fel- 
low. Not  at  all  a  fool,  you  know — very  shrewd  and  keen.  But 
what  in  all  the  world  are  you  so  anxious  to  know  all  about  George 
Miller  for  ?" 

Drummond  did  not  answer;  he  seemed  to  have  encountered 
some  difficulty  in  the  cutlet  that  was  before  him.  At  length  he 
said,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  plate,  and  just  as  if  he 
were  naturally  continuing  the  conversation, 

"Well,  Harding,  I  was  thinking  the  most  miserable  people  in 
this  country  are  the  lads  and  young  men  who  are  devoured  by 
ambition  :  there  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  them,  all  hunger- 
ing for  the  appreciation  of  the  public,  all  anxious  to  have  their 
stupendous  abilities  recognized  at  once.  They  can  not  rest  until 
their  book  is  published;  until  they  have  been  allowed  to  play 
Hamlet  in  a  London  theatre;  until  they  have  had  a  chance  of 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  61 

convincing  a  jury,  and  astonishing  a  judge.  By  Jove !  if  they 
only  knew,  wouldn't  they  be  thankful  for  the  obstacles  that  pre- 
vent their  making  fools  of  themselves !  When  they  do  rush  into 
print  prematurely,  or  get  all  their  friends  to  witness  their  failure 
on  the  stage,  what  do  they  do  but  lay  up  in  their  memory  some- 
thing that  will  give  them  many  a  cold  bath  in  after-days  !  But  I 
wonder  which  you  should  admire  the  more — the  young  fellow  who 
is  tortured  with  ambition,  and  would  make  a  fool  of  himself  if  he 
were  allowed ;  or  the  young  fellow  who  is  much  more  sensible — 
probably  from  a  lack  of  imagination — and  lives  a  happy  and  free- 
and-easy  life  ?  That  is  your  friend  Miller's  case,  isn't  it  ?  Now, 
don't  you  think  that  the  young  man  who — " 

There  is  no  saying  whither  this  speculation  might  not  have  led, 
had  not  Mr.  Drummond  been  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Miller  himself.  Mr.  Drummond's  quick,  brilliant,  observant 
eyes  were  instantly  directed  to  the  young  man's  face.  It  was  a 
refined  and  handsome  face.  There  was  something  pleasing  in  the 
modest  blush  which  accompanied  the  simple  ceremony  of  intro- 
duction. So  far,  the  first  impression  was  distinctly  favorable ; 
but  Drummond  remained  silent,  grave,  and  watchful,  while  the 
younger  man  chatted  to  Harding,  and  explained  the  reasons  for 
his  being  late. 

Then  young  Miller  turned  to  Drummond,  and  rather  timidly 
began  to  talk  to  him.  As  Drummond  was  never  known  to  re- 
main in  the  same  mood  for  five  minutes  at  a  time,  he  was  least 
of  all  likely  to  do  so  when  that  mood  was  one  of  a  cautious  and 
critical  severity ;  so  that  almost  directly  Harding  saw  him,  in  re- 
sponse to  some  chance  and  modest  remark  of  the  young  man, 
suddenly  brighten  up  into  a  laugh,  while  he  retorted  with  a  joke. 
Mr.  Miller  was,  indeed,  relating  some  stories  lie  had  heard  as  to 
the  tricks  of  the  manufacturers  of  spurious  wines — a  subject  on 
which  he  seemed  to  have  acquired  some  knowledge.  He  went  on 
to  make  a  few  remarks  on  the  constituents  of  this  or  that  wine 
— remarks  diffidently  made,  but  obviously  based  on  accurate  in- 
formation. His  talk  interested  Drummond,  who,  by-thc-way,  was 
profoundly  ignorant  on  the  matter.  He  neither  knew  nor  partic- 
ularly cared  how  a  wine  was  produced,  so  long  as  it  was  pleasant 
and  wholesome.  If  it  was  pleasant  and  proved  to  be  wholesome, 
he  drank  it;  if  not,  he  left  it  alone.  He  would  as  soon  have 
thought  of  inquiring  into  the  constituents  of  this  or  any  other 


62  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

wine  as  he  would  of  inquiring  into  the  application  of  the  mon- 
ey he  paid  in  taxes.  He  never  knew  for  what  purposes  he  was 
taxed,  or  who  taxed  him ;  but  he  paid  the  money,  and  was  glad 
to  be  relieved  from  responsibility.  He  lacked  the  parochial  mind 
altogether;  but  he  was  altogether  grateful  to  the  vestries,  or 
boards  of  guardians,  or  whatever  other  and  occult  bodies  took 
upon  themselves  the  task  of  local  government. 

Now,  the  great  respect  markedly  paid  to  him  by  young  Miller 
rather  flattered  Mr.  Drummond,  who  began  to  be  interested  in  the 
young  man.  Moreover,  was  he  not  in  a  position  of  advantage  ? 
He  knew  Miller's  secret  aim ;  Miller  did  not  know  that  he  knew 
it ;  if  there  was  any  thing  suspicious  or  underhand  about  the 
young  man,  he  would  have  an  excellent  opportunity  of  finding  it 
out.  He  was,  on  the  whole,  glad  that  he  had  resolved  to  come  to 
the  luncheon ;  he  would  not  allow  the  young  man  to  make  use 
of  the  acquaintance  unless  he  considered  that  advisable ;  while  he 
was  now  in  a  better  position  to  aid  and  counsel  Violet  North. 

After  luncheon  they  went  up  for  a  brief  period  to  the  smok- 
ing-room ;  and  then  Harding  had  to  go  back  to  his  office. 

"  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  George  Miller,  rather  shyly,  "  I  believe 
you  live  over  Denmark  Hill  way  ?" 

"  Yes ;  Camberwell  Grove,"  said  the  elder  man,  amusing  him- 
self by  watching  the  artless  tricks  of  his  companion's  diplomacy. 

"  I  live  at  Sydenham  Hill.  I — I  was  thinking — you  know  you 
were  speaking  of  old  books — well,  my  father  has  what  is  said  to 
be  a  very  good  collection — it  was  left  him  by  a  friend  who  went 
to  India  some  years  ago.  Now,  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do, 
would  you — would  you — come  out  with  me  now  and  have  a  look 
at  them  ?  You  might  stay  and  have  a  bit  of  dinner  with  me  too. 
Unfortunately  our  people  are  all  down  at  the  Isle  of  Wight  just 
now;  but  the  servants  will  get  us  something.  I  —  I  wish  you 
would." 

Mr.  Drummond  could  have  smiled.  The  poor  young  man ! — 
he  was  working  away  at  his  little  plot,  unconscious  how  the  mas- 
ter-mind beside  him  was  looking  down  on  all  its  innocent  involu- 
tions.    He  would  humor  the  youth. 

"  All  right."  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  very  glad.  Only  I  must  send 
a  telegram  to  my  sister." 

So  these  two  oddly  consorted  people  went  away  down  to  Syd- 
enham to  the  big,  gorgeous,  solemn,  and  empty  house ;  and  young 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  63 

Miller  was  as  anxious  for  his  guest's  comfort  as  if  he  had  heen 
an  emperor.  And  how  respectfully,  too,  he  listened  to  the  elder 
man's  monologues  and  jerky  witticisms,  and  chance  remarks  sug- 
gested by  the  various  volumes.  Much  of  it  all  was  quite  incom- 
prehensible to  him ;  but  he  did  not  cease  to  listen  with  great  at- 
tention. Drummond  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Mr.  Miller  was 
a  very  ignorant  young  man,  but  decidedly  intelligent,  and  lauda- 
bly anxious  to  be  instructed.  Never  had  any  prophet  so  humble 
a  disciple. 

He  staid  to  dinner  too,  and  accepted  with  an  amused  conde- 
scension the  young  man's  apologies  for  a  banquet  which  was  cer- 
tainly varied  and  abundant  enough.  None  of  the  wines  seemed 
sufficiently  good  for  so  distinguished  a  visitor.  The  youthful 
host  bitterly  regretted  he  had  not  a  better  cigar  to  offer  Mr. 
Drummond — the  fact  is,  the  box  he  produced  had  only  cost  71. 
10s.  the  hundred.  They  went  out  on  to  the  terrace  to  smoke, 
and  sat  down  in  easy-chairs,  among  fragrant  bushes,  under  a  clear, 
starlit  sky.  If  the  young  man  had  any  prayer  or  petition  to  pre- 
sent, was  not  this  a  favorable  opportunity  ? 

"  I  suppose  those  lights  over  there,"  said  George  Miller,  look- 
ing across  the  black  valley  to  a  low  hill  where  there  were  some 
points  of  yellow  fire,  "  are  about  where  you  live  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Drummond. 

"  I — I  happen  to  know  a  neighbor  of  yours." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  his  wily  companion,  with  an  apparent  indif- 
ference, though  he  knew  what  the  young  man  was  after. 

"At  least  not  quite  a  neighbor,  but  a  young  lady  at  a  board- 
ing-school. I  —  I  believe  you  know  something  of  her  —  Miss 
North  is  her  name — " 

"  Oh  yes,  we  know  her,"  said  Drummond,  carelessly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  with  greater  embarrassment,  "  so — so  I 
have  heard." 

"  You  know  her  father,  of  course  ?"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  light- 
ly— which  was  certainly  not  the  remark  that  might  have  been  ex- 
pected to  follow  such  a  good  dinner,  such  a  good  cigar,  and  so 
great  an  amount  of  attention. 

"  N-no,  not  exactly." 

"  Her  friends,  then  ?" 

Young  Miller  got  out  of  his  embarrassment  by  a  bold  plunge. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Drummond,  I  made  her  acquaint- 


64  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

ance  in  a  curious  way,  and  I  have  been  anxious  to  get  somebody 
wbo  would  do  all  the  formal  and  society  business  of  introducing 
us,  don't  you  know ;  for  she  is  a  very  nice  girl  indeed,  and  one 
likes  to  know  such  a  sensible,  such  a  frank,  good-natured — " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Drummond,  apparently  making  a  great  dis- 
covery, "  and  so  you  got  Harding  to  ask  me  to  go  into  the  City ; 
and  so  you  have  asked  me  to  come  out  here  ?" 

There  was  no  anger  or  impatience  in  his  tone ;  he  seemed  only 
asking  for  information.  The  night  concealed  the  color  that  had 
fired  up  into  the  younger  man's  face. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  it  was  impertinent  of  me,"  said  he. 
"  I  am  delighted  to  have  made  your  acquaintance  in  any  case — I 
hope  you  will  believe  that.  I  thought  Miss  North  had  probably 
mentioned  my  name  to  you." 

He  made  no  answer  to  that ;  he  said  it  was  a  beautiful  cool 
night,  and  rose  to  stretch  his  legs. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  stammered  young  Miller,  "  I  thought 
that — that  if  you  and  I  became  friendly,  I  might  have  an  oppor- 
tunity, some  time  or  other,  of  being  introduced  to  her  under  your 
roof." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  coolly.  "And  with  what 
purpose  ?" 

"Well,  one  wishes  to  have  a  pleasant  acquaintance  —  that  is 
natural." 

"  I  see,"  said  Drummond,  carefully  breaking  the  white  ash  off 
his  cigar. 

George  Miller  waited  for  a  second  or  two ;  surely  this  was  a 
most  unsatisfactory  answer. 

"  You  have  not  yet  said — " 

"  Oh — whether  I  would  ask  you  to  meet  Miss  North  at  my 
house  ?  Well,  I  see  no  harm  in  that.  You  only  wish  to  make 
her  acquaintance ;  there  is  no  harm  in  that.  But — but  I  will  seo 
about  it." 

"  Oh,  thank  you." 

Not  very  long  after  that  Mr.  Drummond  took  his  leave,  declin- 
ing at  the  last  moment  half  a  dozen  cigars  as  big  as  walking- 
sticks  which  George  Miller  declared  to  be  necessary  to  his  com- 
fort on  the  way  home.  When  he  reached  Camberwell  Grove  he 
said  to  his  sister, 

"  Did  you  see  Violet  North  this  afternoon  ?" 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  65 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  the  Kennaways  came  over  and  stopped  the 
whole  day  with  me." 

"Don't  go  just  yet,  then.  We  must  consider.  I  have  met 
that  young  Miller,  and  a  very  decent  young  fellow  he  is,  but 
much  too  young  to  be  allowed  to  flirt  with  Violet  North.  Now, 
if  they  were  allowed  to  see  each  other  occasionally,  she  is  a  shrewd 
enough  girl  to  find  out  that  he  is  rather  a  commonplace  young 
man ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  let  them  meet  here." 

"  Oh,  James,  how  dangerous  !"  cried  his  sister.  "  Only  think 
what  we  may  be  accused  of !     Violet  North  will  have  money." 

"  That  young  fellow  will  have  twenty  times  as  much.  How- 
ever, I  am  sure  the  question  will  never  arise.  We  will  talk  about 
this  thing  to-morrow." 

Now  "to-morrow"  was  Tuesday — that  Tuesday  on  which  Vio- 
let North  had  determined  to  put  the  whole  world  to  defiance. 

"  Just  my  luck !"  said  young  Miller  to  himself  after  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  had  gone ;  "  confound  it !  why  was  she  in  such  a  hurry  ? 
He  would  be  willing  to  have  us  meet  as  friends  at  his  house — 
that  is  quite  certain — and  every  thing  would  go  smoothly  enough  ; 
and  now  comes  this  pretty  adventure  of  taking  her  away  to 
Hampton,  and  there's  no  escape  from  that  now.  And  a  very 
nice  mess  we  are  likely  to  get  into,  if  any  body  sees  us  or  finds  it 
out,  as  somebody  is  sure  to  do." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE. 


The  eventful  morning  arrived,  and  at  an  early  hour  Violet 
North  went  to  the  window  of  her  small  room,  and,  with  rather 
an  anxious  heart,  drew  up  the  blind.  Behold !  all  around  her 
and  beneath  her  a  world  of  green  foliage,  lighted  up  by  the  early 
sunshine ;  a  million  flashing  diamonds  of  light  on  the  glossy  ivy 
leaves  of  the  old  red  wall ;  black  shadows  from  the  broad  laurel 
bushes  falling  on  the  brown  earth  below ;  the  white  and  purple 
lilacs,  the  tremulous  yellow  blossoms  of  the  laburnum,  the  up- 
right, cream -hued  minarets  of  the  chestnut -trees,  all  basking  in 
the  sun ;  and  two  tall  poplars,  rustling  their  leaves  in  the  light 


66  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

wind,  loading  the  eye  up  to  the  wonderful  expanse  of  clear  blue 
above,  where  there  was  not  even  a  white  flake  of  cloud.  She  was 
satisfied. 

She  heard  some  one  passing  her  door ;  she  went  to  it  hurriedly, 
and  one  of  the  servants  turned  on  the  stair  and  regarded  her. 

"Elizabeth,"  said  she,  "here  is  a  shilling  for  you;  and  you 
must  at  once  run  away  down  to  Camberwell,  and  go  to  Mrs. 
Cooke's,  the  milliner,  and  don't  you  come  away  until  you've  got 
my  hat,  done  or  undone.     Now,  do  you  understand,  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  Lor,  miss,  they  was  to  send  it  up  at  eight  o'clock,  and  it  is 
only  half-past  seven  yet." 

"  But  I  am  sure  they  won't  send  it.  Don't  waste  time,  Eliza- 
beth, but  go  and  do  as  I  tell  you ;  and  don't  be  argued  out  of 
the  shop." 

When  the  two  or  three  boarders  came  down  to  breakfast,  they 
all  knew  that  Violet  North  was  going  away  for  a  holiday,  and 
they  were  all  anxious  to  see  her  costume.  She  was  continually 
surprising  them  in  that  matter,  for  she  had  some  skill  in  dressing 
herself,  and  yet  many  a  poor  girl,  who  faithfully  copied  this  glass 
of  fashion,  could  not  understand  how  these  costumes  seemed  to 
suit  no  one  as  well  as  they  suited  Violet  North.  They  could  not 
even  say  that  it  was  the  larger  pocket-money  of  a  baronet's  daugh- 
ter which  gave  her  greater  latitude  in  adorning  herself ;  for  her 
dresses  were  devoid  of  every  sort  of  ornament.  They  were  the 
simplest  of  the  simple ;  no  tawdry  flounces  or  eye  -  distracting 
bunches  of  ribbons :  their  only  peculiarity  was  the  studied  tight- 
ness of  their  sleeves.  But  that  which  made  Miss  North's  dresses 
seem  to  fit  so  gracefully  was  something  outside  and  beyond  the 
dress-maker's  art :  the  workmanship  not  of  any  man  or  woman 
milliner,  but  of  God. 

She  was  in  capital  spirits.  Anxious  ?  Not  a  bit.  There  was 
more  anxiety  in  the  breast  of  a  young  man  who,  at  that  moment, 
was  coming  along  the  Dulwich  Road  in  a  carriage  drawn  by  a 
pair  of  fine  grays.  He  almost  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  a 
wedding. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Main,"  said  Violet  North,  going  calmly  to  the  win- 
dow, "  here  is  the  carriage ;  and  I  see  it  is  young  Mr.  Miller  who 
has  come  for  me.  I  would  rather  have  introduced  the  father  to 
you ;  but  as  it  is,  will  you  come  down  and  see  him  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Miss  Main,  graciously. 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  67 

• 

The  young  man  stood,  hat  in  hand,  in  the  parlor ;  and,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  with  his  heart  for  the  moment  throbbing  rath- 
er quickly.  He  looked  from  the  school-mistress  to  Violet  North 
as  they  both  entered ;  the  young  lady  was  composed,  smiling,  and 
courteous. 

"Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Miller  to  you,  Miss  Main,"  said  she. 
"  Your  father  is  very  well  known,  by  reputation,  to  Miss  Main, 
Mr.  Miller ;  and  she  almost  expected  him  to  come  for  me  this 
morning.     But  I  suppose  he  had  some  other  engagement." 

"  Y-yes,"  stammered  the  young  man  ;  and  then  he  added,  hasti- 
ly, "  Are  you  ready  to  go  now,  Miss  North  ?" 

He  was  desperately  anxious  to  get  out  of  the  house ;  he  knew 
not  at  what  moment  he  might  make  a  blunder.  That  there  was 
some  mystification  about  was  evident  from  Miss  Main's  innocent 
helplessness  in  the  mattei". 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Main,"  said  Miss  North ;  "  I  dare  say  I 
shall  be  back  about  six." 

When  she  stepped  out  into  the  sunlight,  and  saw  the  two  gray 
horses  before  her,  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  smiling — it  was 
very  like  a  runaway  marriage.  And  so  thought  the  girls  up- 
stairs, who  were  all  at  the  window ;  and  who,  when  they  saw  the 
young  lady  in  gray  and  dark -brown  velvet — with  her  gray  hat 
now  adorned  with  a  bold  white  feather — handed  into  the  car- 
riage, could  not  help  admitting  that  a  handsomer  bride  had  never 
been  taken  to  church.  And  was  not  he  handsome,  too — the  slen- 
der, square-shouldered  young  man,  with  the  straight  nostrils  and 
finely  cut  mouth  ?  They  drove  away  in  the  clear  sunshine ;  and, 
the  girls  were  of  opinion  that,  if  it  were  not  a  marriage,  it  ought 
to  have  been. 

George  Miller  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief :  he  had  not  been 
at  all  comfortable  while  in  that  room. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  with  a  revengeful  triumph  in  her  manner  that 
he  did  not  quite  understand,  "  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world ! 
That  dear  good  school-mistress  thinks  we  are  going  to  some  flow- 
er-show or  other,  where  your  father,  and  my  father,  and  every 
body  else's  father,  are  all  to  be  together.     Coachman  !" 

The.  man  turned  round. 

"  Would  you  please  go  through  this  lane  and  up  Grove  Hill  ?" 

She  did  not  wish  to  pass  in  front  of  Mr.  Drummond's  house. 


68  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"And  did  you  tell  her  all  that?"  said  be. 

"Not  I.  She  inferred  it  all  for  herself.  But  never  mind 
that.  Isn't  it  fine  to  be  off  for  a  holiday  ? — and  what  a  holiday, 
too !     I  never  saw  this  place  looking  so  lovely." 

They  were  driving  along  the  crest  of  Champion  Hill ;  and  as 
there  was  a  bank  of  black  cloud  all  along  the  southern  sky, 
against  this  dark  background  the  wonderful  light  greens  of  the 
spring  foliage  seemed  to  be  interfused  with  a  lambent  sunshine. 
Here  were  young  lime-trees,  with  slender  and  jet-black  branches ; 
tall  and  swaying  poplars ;  branching  and  picturesque  elms ;  mass- 
ive chestnuts  and  feathery  birches;  and  now  and  again,  looking 
into  a  bit  of  wood,  they  saw  a  strange  green  twilight  produced 
by  the  sun  beating  on  the  canopy  of  foliage  above.  It  was  ;i 
spring-day  in  look — the  heavy  purple  in  the  south,  the  clear  blue 
above,  with  glimpses  through  the  lofty  elms  of  sailing  white 
clouds  blown  along  by  a  western  breeze. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?"  said  she,  though,  in  point  of  fact,  she 
did  not  care  much.  It  was  enough  to  be  out  in  freedom,  in  the 
cool  air  and  the  clear  sunshine. 

"  I  thought  of  Hampton,"  said  he,  timidly.  "  The  river  is 
pretty  there,  and  we  must  have  luncheon." 

"  Are  there  not  a  good  many  Cockneys  there  ?"  said  she,  with 
an  air  of  lofty  criticism.     "  Don't  they  call  it '  'Appy  'Ampton  ?'  " 

"  You'll  scarcely  find  any  body  there  on  a  Tuesday,"  said  he. 

"Ah,  you  thought  of  that?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Thank  you." 

She  was  quite  gracious ;  but  somehow  he  was  never  sure  that 
she  was  not  joking.  ^Yas  it  not  with  some  hidden  sarcasm  that 
this  school-girl  said  "  Thank  you,"  with  the  high  courtesy  of  an 
empress  ? 

Suddenly  she  burst  out  laughing;  and  then  he  knew  she  was 
natural  enough. 

"  If  Miss  Main  should  hear  of  this,"  she  cried,  "  I  do  think 
she'll  have  a  fit !     It  will  be  worth  all  the  money  to  see  her !" 

"  I  don't  see  any  thing  to  laugh  at  in  it,"  said  he,  "  for,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  your  going  on  in  this 
way." 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Tell  the  man  to  stop,"  said  she,  with  sudden  decision.     "  I 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  69 

don't  see  the  necessity,  either,  of  our  going  on  like  this.  I  have 
had  enough  of  the  driving,  and  I  can  walk  back." 

"  Now  please  don't  be  foolish,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Why 
won't  you  wait  until  I  explain  ?  I  said  it  was  unnecessary,  for 
there  is  no  longer  any  reason  why  we  should  not  meet  each  other 
just  as  ordinary  people  do.  Mr.  Drummond  dined  with  me  last 
night." 

The  announcement  did  not  startle  her  as  he  had  expected. 

''  I  don't  care,"  said  she. 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  risking  trouble  f" 

"  They  goaded  me  into  it,"  said  she. 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  refuse  ?" 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  what  is  the  use  of  arguing  on  such  a  morn- 
ing? I  said  I  would  go  with  you  for  a  nice  drive,  and  here  I 
am ;  and  now  you  begin  to  talk  about  difficulties  and  disagree- 
able people.     Why  can't  you  let  well  alone  ?" 

He  was  effectually  silenced :  and  that  was  not  the  first  time  he 
had  found  himself  unable  to  cope  with  the  pronounced  character 
of  this  mere  school-girl.  Of  course,  he  did  not  like  it.  There 
was  a  frown  on  his  handsome  face ;  and  he  sat  moody  and  silent. 
After  a  bit,  she  looked  at  him,  and  there  was  a  mischievous  look 
of  amusement  in  her  eyes. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  ?"  she  said. 

"  No ;  but  you  have  been  rather  rude,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  that  is  pretty  language,"  said  she,  with  a  good-natured 
laugh,  "  to  address  to  a  young  lady !  By-and-by  I  shall  find  you 
following  the  example  of  Dr.  Siedl.  He  called  me  a  devil,  the 
other  day." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  he ;  and  this  confession  so  tickled 
her,  and  pleased  her,  that  she  got  into  a  fit  of  laughing,  which 
eventually  conquered  his  surliness.  He  could  not  help  laughing 
too. 

"  Do  you  know  what  an  exasperating  person  you  are  ?"  said  he. 

"  Well,"  she  candidly  admitted,  "  one  or  two  people  have  hint- 
ed as  much  to  me ;  but  I  always  considered  it  jealousy  on  their 
part — jealousy  of  my  superior  sweetness.  I  do  assure  you  I  con- 
sider myself  very  amiable.  Of  course,  if  people  choose  to  be  dis- 
agreeable— " 

"  That  means,  if  people  don't  give  you  your  own  way  in  every 
thing,  you  will  take  it." 


10  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Well,  there  is  something  in  that.  However,  let  us  say  no 
more  about  it.     I  forgive  you." 

She  settled  herself  comfortably  in  the  carriage,  the  sunlight 
just  catching  the  fine  color  of  her  face,  and  the  light  breeze  stir- 
ring ends  and  tatters  of  her  masses  of  dark  hair.  If  she  was  a 
runaway  school -girl,  there  was  little  fear  about  her.  She  was 
criticising  the  appearance  of  the  houses  on  Denmark  Hill  and 
Heme  Hill  as  they  drove  past ;  she  was  calling  attention  to  the 
pale  purple  blossoms  of  the  wistaria  hanging  in  front  of  the  sun- 
lit walls ;  or  to  the  light,  sunny,  velvety  green  becoming  visible 
on  the  upper  side  of  the  black  and  shelving  branches  of  the  ce- 
dars. What  sort  of  people  were  they  who  had  these  houses? 
What  was  their  income  ?     Would  Mr.  Miller  like  to  live  there  ? 

Then  for  a  time  they  got  away  from  the  houses  ;  and,  behold  ! 
here  were  beautiful  green  meadows  yellowed  over  with  kingcups, 
and  hedges  white  with  the  may.  Past  some  houses  again,  and 
into  the  long  broad  avenues  of  Clapham  Park.  Was  not  this 
Clapham  Common,  with  its  golden  gorse  and  gigantic  birch-trees  ? 
They  dip  into  another  hollow,  and  rise  again  ;  and  by-and-by  they 
get  well  out  into  the  country  —  the  perpetual  road  of  sunlit 
brown,  the  green  fringe  of  hedge,  the  blue  sky  with  its  long  flakes 
of  white,  and  the  musical,  monotonous  patter  of  the  horses'  feet. 

"  So  you  saw  Mr.  Drummond  last  night  ?"  said  Violet.  "  Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  No — don't  tell  me ;  for  unless  you 
admired  him  very  much — very  much  indeed — you  and  I  should 
quarrel." 

"  I  thought  you  were  rather  offended  with  him  just  now  ?"  said 
George  Miller,  with  some  surprise. 

"You  can  be  offended  with  people  you  admire  and  like,  can 
not  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  found  him  a  very  pleasant  fellow — rather  eccentric,  you 
know — rather  too  much  given  to  puzzling  you  about  things — " 

"  He  can  not  help  your  not  understanding  him,"  said  Miss 
Violet,  innocently. 

"  As  for  that,  I  don't  suppose  he  has  all  the  wisdom  in  the 
world,"  said  George  Miller,  who  was  only  a  young  man,  and  quick 
to  imagine  rivalry.  "And  you  must  admit  that  he  isn't  very 
good-looking." 

"  I  dislike  dolls,"  said  Miss  Violet ;  "  I  like  men  to  be  men — 
not  dolls." 


A    SUMMER    DAY  S    RIDE. 


71 


And  now  they  had  come — why,  this  easy,  delightful  traveling 
was  like  a  dream!  —  to  the  high  ground  overlooking  the  far 
stretches  of  Wimbledon  Common ;  and  here,  indeed,  were  two 
immense  parallel  plains,  that  of  the  fair  blue  sky  above,  and  that 
of  the  black  heath  below,  dotted  here  and  there  with  yellow  furze. 
Far  away  at  the  edge  of  the  world  there  lay  a  ring  of  low-lying 
wooded  country,  that  somehow  seemed  to  suggest  the  mystic 
neighborhood  of  the  sea. 

"  What  a  fine  scent  the  wind  brings  with  it,"  said  Miss  Violet, 
"  when  it  blows  over  the  gorse  !  Why  can't  they  bottle  that,  in- 
stead of  carnation,  and  peppermint,  and  such  stuffs  ?  Fancy  get- 
ting a  breath  of  country  air  into  a  London  church.  Do  you  like 
red  hawthorn  V 

"  Yes,  rather." 

"  I  don't  It's  too  jammy.  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been  dipped 
red  by  a  confectioner.     I  believe  in  the  real  white  natural  stuff." 

"  But  the  one  is  as  natural  as  the  other,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  argue,"  she  retorted,  with  great  condescen- 
sion, "  the  weather  is  too  fine." 

With  their  youthful  spirits  and  a  joyous  day,  and  a  capital  pair 
of  horses,  the  time  was  passing  pleasantly  enough ;  but  at  this 
point  their  enjoyment  was  interrupted  by  a  pitiful  accident. 
They  had  got  past  the  Robin  Hood  gate,  and  were  rolling  along 
the  valley.  A  woman  was  coming  in  the  opposite  direction  with 
her  two  children — one  in  her  arms,  and  one  whom  she  had  allow- 
ed to  lag  far  behind.  Now,  there  was  a  cart  laden  with  timber  in 
the  way,  and  as  Miller's  coachman  drove  to  the  right  of  the  road 
to  pass  it,  it  unfortunately  happened  that  the  child,  a  little  girl, 
stumbled  at  the  edge  of  the  pathway,  and  almost  rolled  against 
the  carriage.  She  was  not  run  over,  but  she  struck  her  head 
against  the  hind  wheel ;  and  when  Violet  North,  quick  as  light- 
ning, opened  the  carriage  door,  jumped  down,  and  caught  up  the 
child,  blood  was  flowing  from  a  slight  scalp-wound.  The  girl, 
who  had  caught  up  the  child  long  before  the  mother  could  reach 
it,  and  who  did  not  know  that  the  wound  was  not  very  danger- 
ous, was  frantic  in  her  indignation. 

"You  a  driver!"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  flashing.  "  Why 
didn't  you  stop  your  horses?  You — you — you're  not  fit  to — 
Oh,  my  poor  child,  I  think  we've  murdered  you !" 

She  ran  with  the  child  back  to  the  public-house:  there — the 


72  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

mother  not  seeking  to  relieve  her  of  her  burden — she  got  water 
and  washed  the  wound,  and  tied  it  up  as  well  as  she  could  with 
linen  they  brought  her.     The  coachman  came  in  —  he  was  ex- 
plaining to  the  people  that  it  was  not  his  fault  at  all. 
"  Hold  your  peace !"  she  said. 
Then  she  turned  to  the  mother. 

"  "Where  do  you  live  ?  Give  me  your  address — I  will  come 
and  see  you." 

She  quickly  pulled  out  her  purse.  All  this  time  her  face  was 
very  pale  and  determined.  George  Miller  interfered,  and  said, 
"  Here,  my  good  woman,  is  a  sovereign  for  you." 
"  She  shall  have  ten  sovereigns — she  shall  have  twenty  sover- 
eigns !"  the  girl  said,  almost  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  and  with 
abundant  tears  rushing  into  her  eyes.  "  Here,  mother,  is  all  the 
money  I've  got — I'm  sorry  we  can  do  nothing  but  give  you  mon- 
ey. But  I  will  come  and  see  you — my  father  will  come  and  see 
you.  You  go  to  a  surgery  when  you  get  up  to  "Wandsworth,  and 
get  a  good  doctor,  and  I'll  pay  him — now,  don't  you  forget ;  I 
will  look  after  you." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  miss,"  said  the  poor  woman;  and  the 
men  standing  by,  when  the  girl  went  out,  said  to  each  other, 
"  There  now,  that's  a  real  lady,  that  is ;  that's  none  o'  your  fine, 
stuck-up  gentry  as  is  too  proud  to  step  down  from  their  car- 
riages ;  that's  a  real  lady,  that  is." 

The  carriage  was  outside,  and  the  coachman  again  on  his  box. 
She  went  up  to  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  distinctly.  "  I  believe  I  was 
wrong.     I  don't  think  you  could  have  helped  it." 

"  Well,  miss,  I  don't  think  I  could,"  said  he.  "But  there's  no 
great  harm  done — no  bones  broken.     It'll  only  be  a  scar." 

And  so  they  drove  on  once  more ;  but  Mr.  Miller  was  not  at 
all  pleased  at  the  way  he  had  been  treated  in  that  wayside  public- 
house. 

"How  do  you  propose  to  get  your  father  to  go  and  see  that 
woman?     How  will  you  explain  your  being  here?" 
"  I  don't  mind  that,"  she  said. 

"He  could  do  no  good.  How  much  money  did  you  give 
her?" 

"Three  sovereigns  and  some  silver." 

"So  she  has  got  over  four  pounds  on  account  of  that  cut.     I 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    HIDE.  73 

don't  think  she'd  mind  having  the  whole  of  her  family  treated  in 
the  same  way." 

"  If  you  had  your  head  laid  open,"  she  retorted,  "  I  wonder 
how  much  your  friends  would  think  a  proper  compensation." 

They  drove  on  for  some  distance  in  silence. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  we  are  having  a  fair  amount  of  quarreling 
for  a  single  day." 

"  But  that,"  she  answered,  with  a  charming  smile,  "  is  only  to 
show  what  good  friends  we  are.  Of  course,  if  we  had  met  each 
other  at  a  dinner  party,  and  then  at  a  ball,  and  then  at  a  dinner 
party,  we  should  be  excessively  polite  to  each  other.  Would  you 
rather  like  that  ?  Shall  we  try — from  here  to  Hampton  ?  Shall 
I  begin  ?  /  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Mr.  Miller,  but  would  you 
have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  what  o'clock  it  is  ?" 

The  abrupt  change  of  manner,  and  the  air  with  which  she 
made  the  inquiry,  caused  him  to  burst  out  laughing ;  and  this 
effectually  put  both  into  a  good  humor,  which  lasted,  with  but 
few  interruptions,  throughout  the  rest  of  the  day. 

On  through  Kingston  and  over  the  high-arched  bridge — on  by 
the  wall  and  trees  of  Bushey  Park — past  the  entrance  to  Hampton 
Court  Palace  —  underneath  the  shadow  of  some  mighty  trees — 
and  then  round  to  an  open  green,  to  the  river,  and  to  a  big  old- 
fashioned  inn,  its  walls  all  hanging  with  the  blossoms  of  the 
wistaria. 

"Have  you  courage  to  have  luncheon  in  the  ordinary  coffee- 
room  ?"  said  he — as  if  she  lacked  courage  for  any  thing ! 
•  "  Certainly,"  she  said.     "  I  like  to  see  people ;  and  I  am  not 
afraid  of  meeting  any  one  I  know.      Oh,  I  say,  if  Miss  Main 
could  only  see  me  now  !" 

When  they  went  into  the  coffee-room  they  found  there  only 
two  old  maiden  ladies,  having  bread -and -cheese  and  lemonade,  a 
Frenchman  and  his  wife,  who  was  much  older  than  himself,  and 
an  old  gentleman  who  had  fallen  asleep  in  his  chair.  They  were 
therefore  fortunate  in  being  able  to  get  a  table  at  one  of  the  win- 
dows, so  that  they  could  turn  from  the  dull  red  carpet  and  white 
curtains  of  the  room  to  the  great  glowing  world  outside.  Violet 
was  very  grave  while  luncheon  was  being  ordered.  She  expressed 
her  preference  for  this  or  that  with  a  serious  frankness.  She  had 
the  air  of  a  young  woman  on  her  bridal -trip,  who  is  above  all 
things  determined  to  appear  indifferent  and  at  her  ease,  so  as  to 

4 


74  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

make  the  waiter  believe  that  she  has  been  married  from  time  im- 
memorial. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  when  the  waiter  was  gone,  "  you  will  take  a 
little  Champagne,  won't  you  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  like  it,  you  know,  especially 
if  it  is  not  too  sweet ;  but  I  am  not  allowed  to  have  any  thing 
more  than  a  glass  of  sherry." 

"  Who  can  prevent  you  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"My  own  self-respect,"  she  said,  with  great  suavity.  "Do 
you  think  I  would  take  advantage  of  Miss  Main  behind  her 
back?" 

Luncheon  was  put  on  the  table ;  and  yet  they  could  not  bear 
to  have  the  window  shut  down.  Indeed,  there  was  not  much 
wind  blowing  in ;  for  now  all  the  ominous  black  clouds  in  the 
south  had  cleared  away ;  a  clear  blue  sky  shone  over  the  still  and 
fair  landscape ;  the  world  lay  in  the  peaceful  light  of  a  summer 
forenoon.  Violet  was  most  unmistakably  hungry,  but  she  gave 
her  luncheon  only  a  divided  attention.  She  was  continually  turn- 
ing to  the  sunlit  picture  outside,  a  soft  and  dreamy  picture  with- 
out sound.  For  there  was  the  long  blue  sweep  of  the  river — a 
pale  steel-blue,  here  and  there  broken  by  a  sharp  line  of  white. 
Out  in  mid -stream  the  wind  caught  the  surface,  and  ruffled  it 
into  a  darker  blue ;  in  under  the  soft  green  wallows — which  were 
glowing  in  the  sunshine  —  there  were  smooth  shadows  of  a  cool, 
dark  olive.  On  the  one  side,  these  willows  and  meadows ;  on 
the  other,  the  ruddy  road  and  corner  by  the  Palace  wall,  with 
stately  elms  and  chestnuts ;  in  the  far  distance,  a  softly  wooded 
landscape  all  shimmering  in  the  light.  Could  one  catch  the  sound 
of  that  boat  coming  round  the  sweeping  curve  —  the  sunshine 
sparkling  on  the  wet  blades  of  the  oars  ?  There  was  a  flock  of 
ducks  swimming  in  a  compact  body  against  the  gentle  current. 
Far  overhead  a  rook — grown  small  by  the  height — was  making 
his  way  homeward  through  the  blue. 

"  And  who  are  these  ?"  she  said,  looking  down  on  some  six  or 
eight  young  men  who  were  crossing  the  road  from  the  inn  and 
making  for  the  green  banks  by  the  side  of  the  river.  They  were 
carrying  bottles  and  glasses,  and  luost  of  them  had  lighted  pipes 
or  cigars. 

"  I  should  think  they  were  the  German  fellows  who  were  mak- 
ing such  a  noise  up-stairs." 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  75 

"  I  don't  call  part-singing  noise,"  she  retorted.  "  I  wish  they 
had  gone  on.     I  knew  every  song  they  sung." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  like  to  have  gone  and  helped 
them,"  he  said,  not  very  graciously. 

"I  could  have  done  that  too,"  she  replied,  simply.  "My  sing- 
ing is  not  said  to  be  lovely  by  critics — envious  critics,  you  know 
— but  I  am  mad  about  German  songs.  Now  look  at  that  one 
who  has  lain  down  on  his  back,  with  his  hat  over  his  face :  why 
doesn't  he  start  a  song  ?     He  isn't  smoking,  like  the  others." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  and  ask  him  ?"  he  suggested. 

"  I  would,  really,"  she  replied,  quite  innocently.  "  You  don't 
know  how  fond  I  am  of  the  German  choruses.  Don't  you  know 
'  Gaudeamus  T  " 

"If  you  would  prefer  to  go  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  those 
gentlemen — " 

"  In  the  same  manner  I  made  yours?"  she  remarked. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  any  one — "  He  was  obviously  getting  an- 
noyed again,  and  she  interposed. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  she  observed,  "  of  gratitude  in  the  human 
breast.  Here  have  I  run  the  risk  of  the  most  tremendous  dis- 
grace— worse  than  that,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  solitary  confine- 
ment and  bread  and  water  for  three  months — all  to  give  you  the 
pleasure  of  my  society  for  a  few  hours ;  and  the  return  is  that  I 
am  thwarted,  crushed,  argufied  at  every  turn — " 

"You  are  likely  to  be  crushed!"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Why,  I  only  wanted  them  to  sing  some  more  songs  to  please 
vou.  I  know  the  songs,  every  one  of  them,  by  heart.  Why  should 
I—    Oh!" 

She  threw  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and  clasped  her  hands  to- 
gether in  delight. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  that  is  ?" 

One  of  the  young  fellows,  lying  stretched  at  full  length  on  the 
grass,  had  been  tapping  time  with  his  stick,  on  an  empty  bottle, 
to  an  imaginary  tune.  Then  he  had  taken  to  whistling,  which  he 
suddenly  abandoned  in  order  to  bawl  out,  in  a  strong,  careless, 
deep  bass  voice, 

"  Was  konimt  dort  von  der  Hoh', 
Was  kommt  dort  von  der  Hoh' ;" 

and  then  the  full  chorus  burst  in  upon  him,  not  very  musically, 


76  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

for  some  of  the  young  men  tried  to  keep  their  pipes  in  their 
mouths, 

"  Was  kommt  dort  von  der  lederncn  Hoh', 
Sa,  sa  !  ledernen  Hoh', 
Was  kommt  dort  von  der  Hoh' !" 

"  Oh,  you  nice  young  men  !"  cried  Violet  North.  "  Oh,  you 
nice  young  men,  don't  stop  !" 

But  they  did  stop ;  the  foxy  chorus  had  less  novelty  for  them 
than  for  her ;  and,  in  fact,  this  young  fellow  had  bawled  out  a 
line  or  two  of  it  out  of  pure  idleness  and  laziness.  Some  talking 
ensued,  with  here  and  there  a  faintly  heard  burst  of  laughter. 
Suddenly  the  deep-voiced  young  man  called  out, 

"  Es  zogen  drei  Burschen  wohl  iiber  den  Rhcin, 
Bei  einer  Frau  Wirthin  da  kehrten  sie  tin," 

and  there  was  another  scramble  for  the  chorus, 

"  Bei  einer  Frau  Wirthin  da  kehrten  sie  ein." 

Every  one  knows  that  Uhland's  story  of  the  three  students  is 
among  the  most  pathetic  of  ballads ;  but  what  pathos  was  there 
possible  to  those  stalwart  young  fellows,  with  their  lusty  throats, 
their  tobacco,  and  beer  and  wine  ?  And  yet  the  distance  softened 
the  sound;  the  beautiful  air  had  its  own  message  of  sentiment 
with  it.  In  the  still  sunshine,  and  by  the  side  of  the  cool  river, 
the  various  voices  seemed  harmonious  enough. 

"  Oh !"  said  Violet,  "  if  they  would  only  bestir  themselves,  and 
sing  properly !  I  am  sure  they  belong  to  some  choral  society. 
Why  don't  they  sit  up,  and  throw  their  nasty  pipes  into  the 


river 


Not  they :  they  lay,  and  laughed,  and  sung  snatches  of  chorus, 
idle  as  the  summer  day  around  them.  Of  course,  they  sung  of 
the  Lorelei,  though  there  was  here  no  gloomy  and  impending  rock 
for  the  mystic  maiden  to  sit  on  in  the  evening  light,  while  the 
soft  tones  of  her  harp  lured  the  mariner  to  his  fate.  They  sung 
a  jbdel  song,  the  jodeler  having  all  the  air  to  himself  ;  the  others 
merely  chanting  a  rhythmic  and  deep  accompaniment,  as  is  the 
fashion  of  the  Swiss  workmen  when  they  are  walking  home  in  the 
evening.  They  devoted  themselves  to  a  couple  of  drinking-songs, 
and  then  they  got  back  to  the  region  of  sentiment  with  the  Tyr- 
olese  lover's  "  Herzig's  Schatzerl,  lass  dich  herzen."     Violet  had 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  11 

been  getting  more  and  more  impatient.  She  liad  finished  her 
luncheon,  or  rather  had  neglected  it  for  the  singing,  and  the  sun- 
light, and  the  green  foliage  without.  She  had  not  been  a  talka- 
tive companion. 

"  Can't  we  go  out  now  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  get  nearer  to  those  German  fellows  ?" 
said  he. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  can  not  hear  them  very  well  at  such 
a  distance." 

"  Just  as  you  like,  then,"  said  he,  with  no  great  warmth  of  as- 
sent.    "  Of  course,  we  shall  have  to  come  back  here." 

She  went  to  get  her  shawl,  and  then  the  two  of  them  passed 
down  the  stairs  together.  Alas !  what  was  that  she  heard  as  she 
got  into  the  hall  ?  She  could  only  hear  the  air ;  but  she  knew  the 
words  they  were  singing, 

"  Wohlauf,  noch  getrunken  den  funkelnden  Wein  ! 
Ade  nun,  ihr  Briider,  geschieden  muss  sein." 

Why  "Ade!"  just  as  she  was  coming  out  to  see  and  hear  some- 
thing more  of  them  ?  Indeed,  when  she  went  out  to  the  front 
steps,  the  tall  youths  had  all  got  to  their  feet,  and  a  waiter  was 
bringing  back  empty  glasses  and  bottles. 

"  They  are  going,"  she  said,  with  some  disappointment. 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  Did  you  think  they  were  going  to  perform 
the  part  of  Ethiopian  serenaders  the  whole  day  ?" 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  she  asked.  Her  musicians  gone, 
she  was  indifferent. 

"  Let  us  go  in  and  see  the  gardens,  and  the  fountains,  and  the 
fish.     Then  there  is  the  maze,  you  know." 

"  I  have  heard  of  that,"  she  said,  with  some  grandeur.  "  That 
is  the  place  that  maid  -  servants  like  to  lose  themselves  in  when 
they  go  out  for  a  holiday.  Thank  you,  we  will  do  without  the 
maze." 

They  went  round  and  into  the  Palace,  and,  behold  !  before 
them  were  the  German  youths,  straying  about  the  courts,  and  ap- 
parently having  continual  trouble  with  their  double  eyeglasses. 
They  were  in  the  main  stalwart,  straight -limbed,  good-looking 
young  fellows,  though  they  wore  very  light  trousers,  which  were 
too  short  for  them ;  and  brilliant  neck-ties,  which  a  milliner's  girl 
would  have  coveted ;  and  had  had  their  heads,  to  all  appearance, 


78  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

shaved  on  some  recent  occasion.  But  Miss  North  seemed  to  take 
but  little  interest  now  in  the  young  men ;  she  scarcely  noticed 
them. 

Among  the  few  visitors,  however,  who  were  walking  in  the  gar- 
dens behind  the  Palace,  there  were  two  whom  she  did  particularly 
notice,  and  that  in  a  very  curious  and  wistful  fashion.  These  were 
an  old  blind  man,  with  long  snow-white  hair,  and  a  small  girl, 
probably  his  grandchild,  who  was  leading  him  about,  and  chatter- 
ing to  him  about  all  the  things  she  saw.  Violet  North  and  her 
companion  were  sitting  on  a  seat  which  was  in  the  cool  shadow 
of  a  black  yew-tree;  and  from  this  darkened  place  they  could 
well  see  the  blazing  gardens  all  around  them,  and  the  bright  fig- 
ures that  walked  about  in  the  sunshine.  Wherever  the  old  man 
and  the  child  went,  thither  the  eyes  of  Miss  North  followed  them. 
How  quiet  the  place  was !  the  only  sound  that  of  the  plashing  of 
the  fountains.  The  repose  of  the  Old -World  garden  seemed  to  in- 
vite to  thinking.  There  was  a  sleepiness  about  those  dark  yews 
that  flung  their  black  shadows  on  the  burning  greensward.  It 
was  a  comfort  to  the  eyes  that  those  yellow  and  scarlet  flower- 
beds, that  flamed  in  the  sunlight,  were  remote ;  here,  close  at 
hand,  there  was  but  the  grateful  shadow,  and  the  dark-green  un- 
der the  branches,  and  the  slumberous  plashing  of  the  waters. 

"Do  you  see  that  little  girl  leading  about  the  old  man?  She 
is  describing  to  him  every  thing  she  sees — the  gold-fishes  in  the 
pond,  the  butterflies,  every  thing.  Do  you  know  what  I  should 
do  if  I  were  that  girl,  and  if  he  were  my  father?" 

He  looked  at  her,"  he  had  never  heard  her  speak  in  this  tone 
before. 

"  I  should  tell  him  lies !"  she  said,  with  sudden  bitterness.  "  I 
should  go  and  tell  him  lies,  and  deceive  him,  and  take  advantage 
of  his  blindness.  And  he  would  believe  me ;  for  how  could  he 
suspect  that  I  would  be  so  mean  ?" 

"  I — I  don't  understand  you,"  said  he. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  careless  gesture,  "  we  have  had  our 
holiday ;  never  mind." 

And  yet  her  eyes  still  followed  the  old  man  and  the  child. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  absently,  "  whether,  if  you  break  the  con- 
fidence people  have  in  you,  you  can  ever  restore  it  ?  Or  is  it  all 
done  for,  and  you  can't  go  back  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  once  more :  she  was  quietly  crying. 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  79 

"  Violet!"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  what  I  have  done,  that  is  all,"  she 
said,  trying  to  conceal  her  tears ;  "  and  it  is  never  to  be  undone 
now.  And  all  for  what  ? — a  drive  and  a  look  at  some  flowers ; 
and  now  I  can  never  look  my  father  in  the  face  again,  nor  the 
only  friends  I  have  in  the  world,  nor  Miss  Main,  nor  any  body." 

"  They — they  needn't  know,"  he  said,  hesitatingly. 

"  Don't  I  know  myself  ?"  she  said,  vehemently.  "  Can  any 
thing  be  worse  than  that?  And  I  never  was  so  mean  as  to  de- 
ceive any  one  before  —  and  —  and  —  oh!  I  can't  bear  to  think 
of  it !" 

"  You  must  not  think  so  much  of  all  this,"  said  he,  soothingly. 
"  The  fact  is,  you  are  very  proud,  and  what  annoys  you  wouldn't 
disturb  any  body  else.  It  was  scarcely  fail",  I  admit,  to  go  and 
deceive  those  people,  or  rather  let  them  deceive  themselves ;  but, 
after  all,  it  was  only  a  bit  of  fun — " 

"Yes,"  she  said,  rapidly.  "It  was  that  at  the  time  —  it  was 
that  all  to-day — but,  now  that  we  have  had  our  adventure,  comes 
the  price  that  has  to  be  paid  for  it.  Do  you  know  what  I  would 
give  to  have  those  last  few  days  cut  out  of  my  life  altogether? 
That  is  the  worst  of  it :  you  can  not  forget." 

"  It  isn't  so  serious  as  all  that,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Not  to  you,"  she  answered. 

He  certainly  perceived  that  what  delight  was  to  come  of  this 
adventure  had  passed  away.  All  the  gay  and  careless  audacity 
had  fled  from  her  manner;  she  seemed  to  be  brooding  over  her 
self-humiliation.  It  was  no  use  arguing  with  her ;  she  was  much 
too  sharp  in  her  replies  for  him.  He  began  to  think  they  might 
as  well  drive  back  to  London. 

She  pulled  out  her  watch. 

"  Could  your  man  get  me  up  to  London  by  half-past  five  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  we  start  now." 

"And  would  you  mind  leaving  me  anywhere  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Euston  Square  ?     You  can  go  home  then,  you  know." 

"  But  how  about  Miss  Main  ?"  said  he,  in  surprise. 

"Never  mind  her;  I  will  arrange  about  that." 

"All  right,"  said  he ;  "  we  must  return  to  the  inn  at  once." 

It  was  a  sultry  afternoon  as  they  drove  back  along  the  dusty 
highways  to  the  great  town  they  had  left  in  the  morning.  A 
light  brown  haze  had  come  over  the  sky ;  and  the  sun,  that  had 


80  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

got  a  coppery  tinge,  threw  a  curiously  ruddy  light  on  the  high- 
way, where  the  shadows  of  the  trees  were  purple  rather  than 
gray.  There  was  no  wind  now ;  the  air  seemed  to  choke  one ; 
the  birds  were  hushed;  every  thing  promised  thunder. 

"  You  mean  to  go  and  see  your  father,  I  suppose  ?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  firmly.  "  This  at  least  I  can  do — I  can  go 
and  confess  to  every  one  whom  I  have  deceived,  and  ask  their 
pardon — every  one.  What  they  will  think  of  me  afterward — 
well,  I  can  not  help  that.  I  should  have  thought  of  that  before 
undertaking  this  piece  of  folly." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  bear  all  the  blame,  and  take  all 
the  punishment,"  he  said.  "  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  if  you 
like  :  what  if  I  go  up  to  your  father's  with  you,  and  tell  him  the 
whole  story  ?     I  will  if  you  like." 

"  You  would  ?"  she  said,  with  her  face  brightening. 

"Certainly." 

"  I  like  you  for  that,"  she  said,  frankly  ;  "  but,  of  course,  I  can 
not  allow  it.  You  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all.  It  isn't  the 
mere  running  off  for  a  day  that  I  regret — that  was  mere  stupidi- 
ty— but  the  horrid  cheating;  it  is  that  I  can't  get  over — " 

"  That  is  merely  because  you  are  so  proud." 

"  It  does  not  matter  how  or  why  it  is,  so  long  as  it  is  there.  I 
am  what  I  am ;  and  I  hate  myself — I  shall  continue  to  hate  my- 
self until  I  have  confessed  the  whole  thing,  and  left  it  with  them 
to  forgive  me  or  not,  as  they  please.  And  if  they  do,  will  they 
ever  be  able  to  forget  ?  No,  no :  this  piece  of  fun — of  ridiculous 
nonsense — has  done  something  that  is  not  to  be  undone,  I  know 
that." 

"  Come,  I  say,"  he  remonstrated,  "  you  are  really  taking  the 
thing  too  much  to  heart.  Is  there  no  sort  of  condoning  a  mis- 
take in  the  world  ?  Is  every  thing  you  do  to  stick  to  you  forev- 
er ?     I  think  that  would  be  uncommonly  hard." 

"  Tell  your  man  to  go  as  fast  as  he  can :"  that  was  all  the  an- 
swer she  made ;  and  yet  it  was  said  wistfully,  so  that  he  took  no 
offense. 

In  due  course  of  time  they  got  up  into  the  hot  air  of  London : 
the  ominous  sky  was  clearing,  but  the  sultry  closeness  still  re- 
mained. When  they  reached  the  neighborhood  of  Euston  Square 
she  asked  to  be  set  down ;  and  then  she  held  out  her  hand,  and 
bid  him  good-bye. 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  81 

"  When  am  I  to  see  you  again  ?"  he  asked,  rather  timidly. 

"  Perhaps  never,"  she  answered ;  and  then  she  added,  with  a 
smile,  "  Don't  ask  me  to  make  any  more  appointments  at  pres- 
ent.    There  has  been  enough  mischief  out  of  that." 

"  I  mean  to  see  you  soon,"  said  he,  with  some  firmness ;  and 
then  he  drove  away. 

She  walked  up  to  the  door  of  her  father's  house,  and  rang  the 
bell.     Her  heart  was  beating  violently. 

"  Is  Sir  Acton  at  home,  George  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,"  answered  the  man  ;  and  then  she  walked  in  and 
through  the  hall. 

She  found  her  father  in  a  room  the  walls  of  which  were  almost 
covered  with  plans  and  maps,  while  the  table  was  littered  with  all 
manner  of  papers.  When  he  looked  up  it  was  clear  that  his  mind 
was  deeply  engaged  on  some  project,  for  he  betrayed  no  surprise 
at  finding  her  standing  there. 

"  Well,  Violet,  well  ?"  he  said,  absently.  "  I  will  see  you  at 
dinner :  go  away  now,  like  a  good  girl." 

If  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  her  there,  he  was  sufficiently 
startled  by  what  followed.  Before  he  knew  how  it  all  happened, 
he  found  the  girl  down  on  her  knees  beside  him,  hiding  her  head 
in  his  lap,  and  crying  wildly  and  bitterly.  What  could  it  all 
mean?  He  began  to  recollect  that  his  daughter  had  not  been 
expected  to  dinner. 

"  My  girl,  my  girl,  what  is  all  this  about  ?"  said  he. 

She  told  him,  with  many  sobs,  the  whole  story — every  particu- 
lar of  it,  and  eagerly  putting  the  whole  blame  on  herself.  To  tell 
the  truth,  Sir  Acton  was  not  so  very  much  shocked ;  but,  then, 
the  story  told  by  herself  would  have  sounded  differently  had  it 
reached  him  as  a  rumor  at  second-hand. 

"  That  is  all,  then  ?"  said  he.  "  You  have  just  come  back  from 
that  foolish  excursion  ?  Well,  well,  you  did  right  to  come  to  me. 
Just  let  me  see  what's  to  be  done :  but  you  did  right  to  come 
to  me." 

Perhaps  at  the  moment  some  notion  flashed  across  his  mind 
that  he  had  not  quite  given  the  girl  that  measure  of  paternal  ad- 
vice and  protection  which  was  her  due.  Nor,  indeed,  was  it  easy 
for  him  to  say  off-hand  what  he  should  do  now ;  for  his  mind 
was  still  filled  with  particulars  of  a  Canadian  railway,  and  there 
was  scarcel}'  room  for  the  case  of  this  runaway  school-girl. 

4* 


82  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  now,"  said  he,  "  I — I  don't  know  what  we  had 
better  do — " 

"  Oh,  papa  I"  she  cried,  with  the  beautiful  dark  eyes  still  wet 
with  tears,  looking  up  imploringly  to  his  face,  "  take  me  with  you 
to  Canada !  I  asked  you  on  Saturday  ;  and  if  you  had  said  yes 
then,  I  should  have  been  so  happy  !  I  want  to  go  away  from  En- 
gland— I  hate  England — I  don't  care  how  long  you  are  away. 
Papa,  won't  you  take  me  with  you  to  Canada  ?" 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  head ;  was  there  some  look  of  her 
mother  in  those  earnest,  entreating  eyes  ? 

"  I  will  do  any  thing  you  really  wish,  Violet,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 
"  But  you  don't  know  what  this  means.  I  may  be  away  longer 
than  I  expect  at  present — perhaps  eighteen  months  or  two  years." 

"  Oh,  papa,  that  is  just  what  I  want — to  be  away  for  a  long, 
long  time,  or  altogether — " 

"  But  the  traveling,  Violet.  We  should  have  to  be  continually 
traveling  immensely  long  distances,  with  little  time  for  amuse- 
ment and  sight  -  seeing.  And  we  should  occasionally  get  into 
places  where  the  hotel  accommodation  would  doubtless  frighten  a 
London-bred  young  lady." 

"  It  won't  frighten  me,"  she  said ;  and  there  was  a  happy 
light  shining  through  her  tears ;  for  had  he  not  used  the  word 
"  we  ?" 

He  got  up  and  began  to  walk  about  the  room :  she  stood  for 
a  minute  or  two  irresolute,  and  then  she  went  to  him,  and  put 
her  head  in  his  bosom,  so  that  he  put  his  arms  round  her. 

"  Papa,  I  will  be  such  a  good  companion  to  you  !  I  will  copy 
all  your  letters  for  you,  and  I  will  get  up  in  the  morning  and  see 
that  the  people  have  your  breakfast  for  you,  and  I  will  take  charge 
of  all  your  clothes  and  your  papers,  and  every  thing.  And  I  don't 
want  to  go  sight -seeing  —  I  would  far  rather  see  railways,  and 
coal-mines,  and  engine-houses ;  and  I  don't  need  any  outfit,  for  I 
can  wear  the  dresses  I  have ;  and  if  there  is  any  great  expense, 
papa,  you  might  give  me  ten  pounds  a  year  less  until  you  make 
it  up—" 

At  this  he  burst  out  laughing ;  but  it  was  rather  a  gasping  sort 
of  laugh,  and  there  was  just  a  trace  of  moisture  in  his  eyes  as  he 
patted  her  head. 

"  I  think  we  might  scrape  together  the  few  pounds  for  your 
traveling  without  starving  you,"  said  he. 


A    SUMMER    DAY'S    RIDE.  83 

"Then  you  will  let  me  go  with  you?"  she  cried,  raising  her 
head,  with  a  great  delight  shining  in  her  face. 

He  nodded  assent.  Then  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and 
pulled  down  his  head,  and  said, 

"  I  have  something  to  whisper  to  you,  papa.  It  is  that  I  love 
you ;  and  that  there  is  no  other  papa  like  you  in  the  whole 
world." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  he,  when  she  had  released  him,  "  that  being 
settled,  what  do  you  propose  now,  Miss  Violet  ?" 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  now  I  have  confessed  every  thing  to  you,  and 
you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  I  am  not  so  anxious  about  other 
people ;  but  still  I  have  to  go  and  beg  them  to  forgive  me  too — 
and  I  will  go  on  my  knees  to  them  all,  if  they  wish ;  and  then, 
papa,  I  must  tell  Miss  Main  that  I  am  going  to  Canada.  When 
do  we  go,  papa  ?" 

"  Will  three  weeks  hence  be  too  soon  for  you  ?" 

"  Three  days  wouldn't." 

"  Then,  between  a  fortnight  and  three  weeks." 

She  was  so  overjoyed  and  grateful  that  she  gladly  consented  to 
stay  to  dinner — a  telegram  having  been  sent  to  Miss  Main — and 
she  even  condescended  to  be  civil  to  Lady  North  and  to  her  rath- 
er ugly  half-sisters.  After  dinner  she  was  sent  over  to  the  school 
in  her  father's  brougham. 

She  made  her  peace  with  Miss  Main,  though  that  lady  was  sore 
distressed  to  hear  that  she  was  about  to  leave  the  school  and  go 
to  Canada.     Then  she  went  up  to  her  own  room. 

She  threw  open  the  window.  It  had  now  begun  to  rain ;  and 
there  were  sweet,  cool  winds  about.  In  the  dim  orange  twilight 
of  a  solitary  candle,  she  got  out  from  her  trunk  the  leaves  of  her 
MS.  novel,  and  these  she  deliberately  tore  to  pieces. 

"  You  sham  stuff,  that  is  an  end  of  you !"  she  seemed  to  say ; 
"  you  must  pack  off,  along  with  plenty  of  other  nonsense.  I  have 
done  with  that  now ;  you  were  good  enough  as  the  amusement 
of  a  school-girl.  The  school -girl  casts  you  aside  when  she  steps 
into  the  life  of  a  woman." 


84  MADCAP  VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ENGLAND,  FAREWELL  ! 

"When  does  she  go?"  asked  James  Drumrnond  of  his  sister. 
He  was  rather  moodily  staring  out  of  window. 

"  To-morrow  they  go  down  to  Southampton  ;  and  I  think  they 
sail  next  day.  All  the  school  is  in  a  terrible  way  about  it ;  Amy 
has  been  having  little  fits  of  crying  by  herself  tbese  two  or  three 
days  back.  She  says  that  the  whole  of  the  girls  came  and  asked 
Violet  for  some  little  keepsake  —  and  of  course  she  would  part 
with  her  head  if  it  was  asked  of  her — and  now  they  mean  to  pre- 
sent her  with  some  book  or  other,  with  their  names  written  in  it. 
Dear,  dear  me,  what  will  our  Amy  do !  I  am  glad  she  had  suffi- 
cient sense  not  to  accept  Violet's  watch — the  notion  of  one  girl 
coolly  offering  another  a  gold  watch !" 

"  We  shall  miss  her  too,"  Mr.  Drummond  said ;  he  was  appar- 
ently not  overjoyed  at  Violet  North's  approaching  departure. 

He  turned  impatiently  from  the  window. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  he — with  a  look  of  anger  which  would 
have  frightened  any  body  but  his  sister,  who  knew  his  ways — 
"  do  you  know  what  mischief  is  likely  to  be  done  the  girl  by  this 
two  years'  trip  ?  Look  at  her  now — a  wild,  headstrong,  audacious 
school-girl  just  entering  the  period  in  which  her  character  as  a 
woman  will  be  formed.  And  at  this  moment,  instead  of  letting 
some  soft  womanly  hand  smooth  down  the  angles  of  her  charac- 
ter—  instead  of  submitting  her  to  all  sorts  of  gentle  influences, 
which  would  teach  her  something  of  the  grace  and  sweetness  of  a 
woman  —  they  carry  her  off  among  a  mob  of  railway  directors, 
with  their  harsh,  mechanical  ways,  and  their  worship  of  money, 
and  their  loud  and  bragging  self-importance.  Why,  the  girl  will 
come  back  to  England,  if  ever  she  comes  back,  worse  than  ever." 

"  Do  you  think  her  so  very  bad  at  present  ?"  Mrs.  Warrener  re- 
monstrated, gently.     "  I  thought  you  were  very  fond  of  her." 

"And  I  am,"  he  answered.  "And  there  is  a  great  deal  about 
her  that  is  to  me  intensely  interesting,  and  even  fascinating; 


ENGLAND,  FAREWELL  !  85 

while  there  is  much  that  can  only  be  tolerated  in  the  hope  that 
years  will  eradicate  it.  It  was  all  very  well  to  be  amused  by  her 
rude  frankness,  her  happy  thoughtlessness,  and  that  sort  of  ro- 
mantic affectation  she  sometimes  played  with  while  she  was  a 
school  -  girl ;  but  would  you  like  to  see  all  these  things  in  the 
woman  ?" 

"  She  must  grow  wiser  as  she  grows  older,"  his  sister  said, 
fighting  a  losing  battle  in  defense  of  her  friend. 

"  No  doubt ;  but  will  she  grow  gentler,  sweeter,  more  woman- 
ly ?  Her  father,  I  dare  say,  thinks  he  is  doing  her  a  kindness ; 
he  is  doing  her  a  great  injury." 

"  You  don't  like  to  part  with  her,  James,"  his  sister  said,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Certainly  I  don't.  I  had  some  notion  of  asking  her  father 
to  let  her  come  and  stay  with  us  when  she  left  school,  and  she 
was  bound  to  leave  it  soon.  If  we  could  have  got  her  with  us  to 
the  Highlands,  and  kept  her  there  for  a  couple  of  months,  she 
would  have  got  familiarized  with  us,  and  staid  on  indefinitely." 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  quite  as  impulsively  generous  as  her  broth- 
er ;  but  she  had  to  do  with  housekeeping  books  and  tradesmen's 
bills ;  and  she  ventured  to  hint  that  the  addition  of  another  mem- 
ber to  their  household  would  affect  their  expenditure  to  a  cer- 
tain degree.  He  would  not  hear  of  that.  The  frugal  manner  in 
which  they  lived  surely  left  them  some  margin  for  acts  of  friend- 
liness ;  and  if  Violet  North  were  to  come  to  live  with  them,  she 
was  not  the  sort  of  girl  to  expect  or  appreciate  expensive  living. 

"But  there  is  no  use  talking  of  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"  When  she  comes  back,  we  shall  see  what  sort  of  woman  she  is." 

"  That  is  part  of  your  regret,"  said  his  shrewd  sister.  "  You 
were  always  interested  in  the  girl — watching  her,  questioning  her, 
studying  her — and  now,  just  as  the  study  was  about  to  reach  its 
most  interesting  point,  she  is  seized  and  carried  off.  Perhaps  it 
will  not  turn  out  so  badly  for  her,  after  all :  I  am  sure  I  hope  so, 
for  I  can  not  help  loving  the  girl,  though  she  has  never  been  a 
good  example  to  set  before  our  little  Amy." 

"  I  think,"  said  Drummond,  suddenly,  "  I  should  like  to  go 
down  to  Southampton  and  see  her  off.  The  poorest  emigrant 
has  friends  to  go  and  bid  him  good-bye.  I  doubt  whether  she 
will  have  a  single  creature  to  shake  hands  with  her  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 


86  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Won't  Mr.  Miller  be  there  ?"  his  sister  suggested. 

"  No :  when  he  learned  that  she  had  promised  neither  to  see 
him  nor  to  write  to  him  before  leaving,  he  very  fairly  said  that  he 
would  not  try  to  get  her  to  do  either.  And  it  was  very  straight- 
forward of  that  young  fellow  to  go  up  to  her  father  and  ask  his 
pardon.  I  think  we  must  get  him  over  to  dinner  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"Yes,"  said  his  sister,  with  a  smile,  "now  they  have  taken 
Violet  away  from  you,  you  can  begin  and  dissect  him." 

"  There  is  more  commonplace  material  there,"  said  Drummond, 
indifferently,  as  he  went  away  to  get  a  railway  time-table. 

And  now  the  hour  came  at  which  Violet  North  had  to  leave 
that  tall  house  in  Camberwell  Grove  which  had  been  her  home 
for  many  a  day ;  and  there  was  her  father's  brougham  at  the 
door,  and  a  cab  to  take  her  small  store  of  worldly  possessions. 
The  girls  had  begged  leave  to  go  out  into  the  bit  of  front  garden 
to  see  her  off:  she  came  down  among  them,  and  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  hand-shaking,  and  kissing,  and  "  Good-bye,  Violet," 
going  on.  It  was  a  trying  moment.  For  these  last  two  weeks 
she  had  been  released  from  all  tasks;  and  had  already  assumed 
the  airs  of  a  woman.  She  had  been  very  dignified  and  gracious 
with  her  former  companions  —  a  little  conscious  of  superiority, 
and  proud  of  Miss  Main's  proffered  society  and  counsel ;  and  in- 
clined at  times  to  beg  of  this  or  that  girl  to  be  a  little  less  un- 
ruly, and  a  little  more  mindful  of  the  proper  demeanor  of  a 
young  lady.  Now  she  was  only  Violet  North  again.  Her  at- 
tempt at  playing  the  woman  quite  broke  down ;  she  was  crying 
bitterly  as  she  got  into  the  carriage,  where  she  huddled  herself 
away  ignominiously  into  a  corner,  and  hid  herself  from  the  eyes 
of  her  companions,  who  were  waving  their  handkerchiefs  after 
her. 

But  she  was  not  crying  when  she  stood  on  the  white  decks  of 
the  great  steamer,  and  watched  tnc  last  preparations  being  made 
for  leaving  England.  It  was  a  brilliant  and  beautiful  forenoon, 
the  sun  scattering  millions  of  diamonds  on  the  slight  ripples  of 
the  water,  a  fair  blue  sky  overhead.  She  was  proud,  glad,  impa- 
tient to  be  off :  the  new  excitement  had  brought  such  a  color  to 
her  face  and  such  a  brightness  to  her  eyes,  that  several  of  the  pas- 
sengers looked  at  this  remarkably  handsome  girl  and  hoped  she 
was  not  merely  a  visitor. 


ENGLAND,  FAREWELL  !  8/ 

"  I  must  be  getting  ashore  now,"  said  Mr.  Drumrnond  to  her ; 
and  then  he  added,  with  the  old  friendly  smile,  "Are  you  sure  you 
have  no  other  message  than  those  you  have  given  me  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  for  Mr.  Miller  ?"  she  asked,  looking  down ;  and 
then,  as  he  did  not  answer,  she  continued,  "  Yes,  I  have.  Tell 
him  I  am  obliged  to  him  for  all  the  fun  and  mischief  I  had;  but 
that  is  all  over  now.  Oh,  Mr.  Drummond,  isn't  it  fine  to  be  able 
to  cut  off  all  that,  and  get  away  quite  free  ?  I  am  so  glad  to  be 
going !  And  when  you  see  me  again,  I  shall  be  quite  a  reformed 
character." 

"  Good-bye,  Sir  Acton.  Good-bye,  Violet :  don't  you  forget  to 
write  to  us." 

Shyly,  like  a  school-girl,  she  took  his  hand ;  and  yet  she  held 
it  for  a  moment,  and  her  voice  rather  faltered  as  she  spoke : 

"Good-bye.  You  have  been  kind  to  me.  Try  not  to  —  to 
think  badly  of  me.  And — and  indeed  you  have  been  so  kind  to 
me !" 

Two  or  three  hours  afterward,  all  that  Violet  North  could  see 
of  England  was  a  long,  low  line  of  blue,  with  here  and  there  an 
indication  of  white ;  and  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  did  not 
hate  her  native  country  at  all.  That  is  what  distance  does  for 
us;  the  harsh  and  bitter  features  of  this  or  that  experience  are 
slowly  obliterated,  and  memory  begins  to  look  kindly  on  the  past. 
England  was  to  her  no  longer  a  place  of  squalid  streets  and  noisy 
harbors,  of  smoke,  and  bustle,  and  din ;  but  the  fair  old  mother- 
country,  proud  and  honorable,  the  beloved  of  many  poets,  the 
home  to  which  the  carrier-pigeon  of  the  imagination  was  sure  to 
return  with  swift  wings  from  any  other  point  of  the  earth.  She 
had  been  glad  to  get  away  from  England ;  yet  already  her  heart 
yearned  back  to  the  old,  joyous,  mischievous  life  she  had  led,  and 
it  did  not  seem  wretched  at  all.  The  new  dignity  of  woman's  es- 
tate did  not  wholly  console  her ;  for  now  she  was  crying  just  like 
any  school -girl,  and,  like  a  school -girl,  she  would  accept  of  no 
comfort  in  her  misery. 


MADCAP   VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CCELUM    NON    ANIMUM. 

Sir  Acton  North  had  early  in  life  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  women  were,  on  the  whole,  inexplicable  creatures,  who  lived 
in  a  region  of  sentiment  into  which  no  man  had  ever  entered, 
and  who  had  all  kinds  of  fancies  and  feelings  which  no  man  could 
possibly  fathom.  But  because  he  could  not  understand  these 
strange  notions,  did  he  consider  them  preposterous  ?  Not  at  all. 
He  took  them  on  trust,  for  the  very  reason  that  he  could  not 
guess  at  their  origin.  He  was  most  considerate  toward  those 
women  with  whom  he  had  dealings :  it  wras  enough  for  him  that 
they  did  believe  so  and  so,  and  did  feel  this  or  that ;  he  had  long 
ago  given  up  all  notion  of  trying  to  comprehend  their  sentiments ; 
and,  in  short,  he  simply  accepted  their  reports.  Take,  for  exam- 
ple, the  relations  between  Violet  North  and  her  step -mother. 
Why,  he  asked  himself,  could  not  these  two  people  live  in  the 
same  house  together  and  be  decently  civil  to  each  other?  The 
answer  was  that  they  were  women  —  they  had  "sympathies," 
"  antipathies,"  "  secret  repugnances,"  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  which 
were  no  doubt  of  great  importance  to  themselves,  but  were  a  tri- 
fle unintelligible  to  others.  He  himself,  now,  when  a  young  man, 
had  shared  his  rooms  with  this  or  that  acquaintance,  whose  hab- 
its and  opinions  were  very  different  from  his  own ;  but  did  they 
quarrel  ?  No ;  they  were  two  men ;  they  had  something  else  to 
think  of  than  studying  those  niceties  of  manner  and  expression 
that  seemed  to  make  women  either  love  each  other  or  hate  each 
other,  as  the  chance  might  be.  Had  he  not  had  to  work  in  daily 
association  with  many  a  man  whose  appearance,  and  dress,  and 
habit  of  speech — in  fact  every  thing  about  him — betokened  min- 
gled coarseness  and  meanness ;  and  yet  when  did  either  of  them 
find  the  other's  presence  in  a  room  an  insupportable  outrage  on 
the  feelings  ?  Women  were  strange  creatures ;  but  they  had  to  be 
leniently  dealt  with ;  for,  after  all,  these  peculiar  fancies  of  theirs 
were  doubtless  of  importance  to  themselves, 


CCELITM    NON    ANIMUM.  89 

Sir  Acton  loyally  carried  out  this  theory,  especially  with  regard 
to  his  wife  and  daughters.  At  the  present  moment  he  was  ham- 
pering in  a  serious  manner  the  performance  of  his  duties  in  Can- 
ada, merely  because  a  school-girl  had  besought  him  to  take  her 
away  from  England  for  eighteen  months  or  a  couple  of  years. 
He  did  not  understand  why  Violet  should  hate  England,  or  be  so 
anxious  to  leave  it.  He  knew  she  had  committed  some  school- 
girl indiscretions;  but  surely  every  school -girl  did  not  get  into 
such  a  passion  of  remorse  when  found  out  in  a  fault?  Howev- 
er, here  was  his  eldest  daughter  crying,  sobbing,  imploring  to  be 
taken  with  him  to  Canada ;  and  so  he  took  her. 

Nor  was  he  surprised  that  the  moment  she  left  England  she 
should  begin  to  be  very  sorrowful  and  filled  with  a  longing  re- 
gret. That  was  only  another  instance  of  the  unintelligible  work- 
ing of  the  feminine  emotions.  He  cheered  her  as  well  as  he 
could ;  and  tried  to  interest  her  in  the  details  of  the  voyage. 
Fortunately  they  had  a  fine  passage;  there  were  some  agreeable 
people  on  board ;  and  Miss  North  speedily  regained  her  ordinary 
gayety  of  spirits.  When  they  landed  on  the  shores  of  what  was 
to  her  a  new  and  wonderful  country,  moreover,  she  was  full  of 
high  expectation.  She  proved,  as  she  had  promised  to  be,  an 
excellent  traveling  -  companion.  She  was  equal  to  any  amount 
of  fatigue — indeed,  the  girl  had  a  constitution  as  tough  as  his 
own.  She  made  light  of  delays  and  inconveniences;  she  saw 
every  thing  that  was  tolerably  pleasant  through  rose-colored  spec- 
tacles ;  such  things  as  were  beautiful  or  delightful  provoked  an 
admiration  which  pleased  her  father,  because  it  was  obviously  fla- 
vored with  gratitude.  Then  there  was  something  on  the  other 
side.  They  were  not  always  inspecting  valleys,  surveying  plains, 
and  studying  maps.  There  were  pauses  of  social  enjoyment ; 
and  Sir  Acton  North,  in  taking  about  with  him  his  daughter, 
was  not  at  all  averse  to  showing  some  of  his  old  acquaintances 
what  an  English  girl  was  like.  And  among  those  families  were 
there  not  a  few  young  men  who  secretly  admired  and  longed — 
who  wondered  whether  it  was  not  possible  to  fascinate,  delay,  and 
subsequently  capture  this  beautiful  bird  of  passage  ?  Doubtless ; 
but  their  wiles  were  of  no  avail.  She  was  too  busy,  eager,  and 
happy — too  gay  and  self-reliant  of  heart — to  attend  to  imploring 
glances  and  sighs.  If  she  had,  in  resolving  to  become  a  woman, 
thrown  aside  much  of  the  fractious  impatience  and  rude  frank- 


90  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

ness  of  her  school-girl  days,  she  still  retained  a  gracious  dignity — 
a  certain  lofty  audacity  of  pride  in  herself — that  would  not  at  all 
permit  that  she  should  be  trifled  with,  Those  young  gentlemen 
were  not  aware  that  she  had  just  been  released  from  school,  or 
doubtless  they  would  have  been  sufficiently  surprised  by  the  fash- 
ion in  which  a  school-girl  could  assume  all  the  self-reliant  dignity 
of  a  woman,  keeping  them,  more  especially,  in  their  proper  place. 

But  even  Sir  Acton's  placid  concurrence  in  the  vagaries  of  the 
feminine  nature  would  have  been  startled  if  he  had  known  the 
sentiment  that  was  gradually  growing  up  during  all  this  time  in 
his  daughter's  heart.  It  had  been  symbolized  in  a  measure  by  the 
manner  of  her  leaving  England.  She  was  glad  to  get  away  from 
the  squalor,  the  din,  the  bustle  of  the  sea-port  town  from  which 
they  sailed ;  but  by-and-by  all  those  objectionable  things  were 
forgotten,  and,  looking  back,  she  only  saw  her  own  beautiful 
England.  So  now  all  the  harsh  aspects  and  humiliating  circum- 
stances of  the  old  life  she  had  cried  to  get  away  from  were  for- 
gotten ;  and  she  looked  back  to  the  small  circle  of  friends  she 
had  known  with  a  tender  and  wistful  regret.  She  grew  to  think 
there  was  no  place  in  all  the  world  so  quiet,  and  homely,  and 
beautiful  as  that  little  garden  behind  James  Drummond's  house 
in  Camberwell  Grove.  The  people  around  her  did  all  they  could 
to  please  her  and  amuse  her ;  but  they  were  only  acquaintances ; 
her  friends  were  back  in  that  old  and  yet  never-forgotten  time 
which  was  becoming  so  dear  to  her.  She  had  indeed  succeeded 
in  putting  a  great  chasm  between  her  and  that  by -gone  time. 
England  was  not  half  so  far  away  from  her  as  were  her  school- 
girl days.  But  did  she  cease  to  care  for  the  old  time,  and  for 
the  friends  she  knew  then  ?  Not  much.  Both  had  grown  dearer 
to  her,  as  England  had  grown  dearer  to  her ;  and  many  a  night, 
when  a  great  lambent  planet  was  shining  in  the  northern  sky,  she 
looked  up,  and  her  heart  said  to  it,  "Ah,  how  happy  you  must  be; 
for  you  are  able  to  look  across  the  waters  and  see  my  England !" 

And  as  for  him  who  had  been  her  companion  in  that  advent- 
ure which  was  the  main  cause  of  her  exile  ?  "Well,  he  underwent 
transformation  too.  First  of  all,  she  wras  considerably  ashamed 
of  the  whole  affair ;  and  did  not  like  to  think  of  him.  Then  she 
began  to  look  upon  that  episode  in  a  sort  of  half-humorous  way ; 
she  would  smile  to  herself  in  reflecting  on  her  own  folly,  and 
perhaps  wonder  what  he  was  now  thinking  of  it  all.     But  as  the 


A    MESSAGE    HOME.  91 

days,  and  the  weeks,  and  the  months  went  by — as  the  continual 
succession  of  actual  lakes,  and  mountains,  and  pine-woods  made 
England  look  more  and  more  visionary  and  remote — so  that  lit- 
tle adventure  came  to  be  regarded  as  the  only  bit  of  romance 
that  had  ever  occurred  to  her,  and  she  thought  of  the  bright 
May-day  as  belonging  to  a  past  spring-time  not  likely  to  be  re- 
called in  the  life  of  a  woman.  He,  too ;  had  he  not  been  made 
the  victim  of  her  petulant  caprice  ?  Had  he  not  manfully  gone 
and  taken  the  blame  of  that  for  which  he  was  in  no  wise  respon- 
sible ?     And  did  he  sometimes  think  of  her  now  ? 

For  a  long  time  she  never  mentioned  him  in  her  letters.  One 
day,  she  put  a  timid  little  postscript  at  the  end  of  the  last  page — 
she  was  writing  to  Mrs.  Warrener — and  this  was  what  she  asked, 
in  a  half-comical  way  : 

"  Do  you  ever  see  my  youthful  sweetheart  now  ?  What  a  long 
time  it  seems  since  Ave  made  fools  of  ourselves !  I  suppose  he 
has  quite  forgotten  me  by  this  time ;  and  as  for  me,  I  can  scarce- 
ly remember  what  he  was  like,  except  that  he  had  wavy  light- 
brown  hair,  which  I  thought  very  lovely  and  quite  Adonis-looking. 
Sometimes  I  dream  that  I  am  caught  in  some  awful  piece  of  mis- 
chief, and  Miss  Main  is  setting  me  three  pages  of  'Telemaque'  to 
write  out." 

It  was  a  casual  and  apparently  a  careless  question ;  but  some- 
how the  answer  was  looked  for.  And  that  came  from  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  himself,  who  described,  in  his  rambling,  odd,  jocular  fash- 
ion, the  evening  which  Mr.  George  Miller  had  spent  at  his  house 
the  very  night  before.  The  girl  dwelt  long  over  that  pleasant  lit- 
tle picture ;  until  she  was  more  ready  than  ever  to  cry  out,  "  How 
very  happy  the  stars  must  be,  because  they  can  see  my  England !" 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    MESSAGE    HOME. 

England,  meanwhile,  had  not  remained  stationary  merely  be- 
cause Violet  North  had  left  it.  The  little  world  in  which  she 
had  lived  still  wagged  on  in  its  accustomed  way,  bringing  all  man- 
ner of  changes,  big  and  little,  to  the  people  she  had  known. 

First  of  all,  Mr.  Drummond  had  finally  completed  his  scheme 


92  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

for  a  great  work  to  which  he  meant  to  devote  the  following  win- 
ter. He  had  developed  many  such  schemes  before ;  and  he  had 
always  been  looking  forward  to  a  winter's  serious  work;  but 
somehow  the  big  project  generally  dwindled  down  to  the  dimen- 
sions of  a  magazine  article,  and  even  that  was  sometimes  too 
whimsical  and  perverse  for  the  most  patient  of  editors.  How- 
ever, this  time  he  was  resolved  to  get  the  thing  done ;  and  so  he 
went  to  a  publisher  whom  he  knew,  carrying  with  him  a  few 
slips  containing  the  outlines  of  his  projected  book.  The  publish- 
er's face  grew  more  and  more  puzzled  as  he  looked  at  the  follow- 
ing title  and  table  of  contents : 

ON  A  PROPOSAL  TO  WHITEWASH  THE  OUTSIDE  OF  WESTMIN- 
STER ABBEY. 

Sub-head  1. — TJie  General  Properties  and  History  of  Whitewash. 
Section     I.  On  Expiatory  Punishments. 

Section   II.  Remarks  on  Modern  Estimates  of  Judas  Iscariot,  Nero,  Henry 

VIII.,  and  Torquemada. 
Section  III.  Whitecross  Street. 

Section  IV.  On  those  retrospective  marriage  laws  which  clear  the  charac- 
ter of  illegitimate  children. 

Section   V.  On  tombstone  inscriptions. 

Sub-head  2. — The  Interior  of  Westminster  Abbey. 
Section     I.  On  Exploded  Reputations. 

Section  II.  Three  questions  propounded:  (1)  Is  it  possible  for  the  dis- 
embodied spirit  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  of  his  own 
body  ?  (2)  Is  it  possible  for  a  disembodied  spirit  to  blush  ? 
(3)  Is  it  probable  that,  on  several  occasions,  disembodied 
spirits  may  have  been  present  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and 
blushed  to  find  their  own  bodies  being  buried  there  ? 

Section  III.  On  the  Dean  of  Westminster  as  a  collector  of  curiosities. 

Section  IV.  On  the  possibility  of  a  Dean  of  Westminster  becoming  pos- 
sessed of  the  evil  eye,  and  therefore  able  to  secure  celebri- 
ties for  his  collection  before  the  proper  time. 

Section  V.  A  proposal  for  a  Junior  Westminster  Abbey :  the  occupants 
of  the  present  Abbey  to  retire  by  rotation :  vacancies  to  be 
filled  up  from  the  Junior. 

The  publisher  got  no  further  than  that.  His  brain  was  in  a 
whirl,  and  he  sought  safety  by  getting  back  to  the  initial  point 
of  his  perplexity. 


A    MESSAGE    HOME.  93 

"  God  bless  my  soul !"  he  cried,  "  what  do  you  mean,  Drum- 
mond  ?  To  whitewash  Westminster  Abbey  ?  Why,  the  public 
wouldn't  hear  of  such  a  thing.  It  would  be  an  outrage — a  bar- 
barism.    I  never  heard  of  such  a  notion  I" 

A  quick,  strange,  bewildered  look  came  into  Drummond's  eyes ; 
he  looked  at  the  publisher  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"  You  don't — see — that  it  is  a  joke,"  said  he. 

"A  joke!  Is  all  this  meant  to  be  a  joke?  Do  you  think  the 
public  would  read  a  joke  extending  to  five  hundred  pages  ?" 

"  Confound  them,  they  read  many  a  five  hundred  pages  with- 
out any  joke  in  them  at  all,"  said  Drummond. 

"  My  dear  fellow  !"  said  the  publisher,  with  a  friendly  and  con- 
descending smile,  "  why,  God  bless  my  soul !  who  could  be  amus- 
ing for  five  hundred  pages  ?" 

"  There  are  many  folks  amusing  all  their  life-long,"  retorted 
Drummond,  though  he  was  rather  disappointed.  "  What  they 
are  after,  goodness  only  knows.  Perhaps  they  have  the  fun  taken 
out  of  them  then" 

"  Take  my  advice,  Drummond,"  said  his  friendly  adviser. 
"Don't  waste  your  time  over  this.  If  it  were  a  real  piece  of  his- 
tory, now,  you  know — something  nice  and  picturesque  about  the 
Abbey  itself,  and  the  great  heroes  there — with  a  good  dash  of 
patriotism,  and  religious  feeling,  and  that  kind  of  thing  —  then 
the  public  would  look  at  it.  But  a  joke !  and  a  joke  about 
Westminster  Abbey  of  all  places  in  the  world !" 

"  I  meant  no  disrespect  to  the  Abbey,  I  am  sure,"  said  Drum- 
mond, humbly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  his  friend ;  "  don't  you  waste  your  time  on 
that." 

James  Drummond  went  home  crest-fallen  to  his  sister :  he  was 
sure  of  sympathy  and  admiration  from  his  unfailing  audience  of 
one. 

"They  won't  have  it,  Sarah." 

"And  why?" 

"  Because  the  public  wouldn't  see  it  was  meant  as  a  joke ;  and 
then,  if  they  did,  they  would  take  it  as  an  insult.  By  heavens !" 
he  added,  savagely,  "  I  wish  all  the  publishers  were  buried  in  the 
Abbey,  and  that  I  had  to  write  an  inscription  over  their  common 
tomb  !" 

"  What  would  you  say  ?" 


94  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

He  stood  uncertain  for  a  moment. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  I  can  not  do  better  than  go  and 
compose  that  inscription.  As  a  great  favor,  I  will  show  it  to  any 
publisher  who  makes  the  application.  It  is  not  every  one  who 
can  tell  before  his  death  what  his  tombstone  is  going  to  say  after 
that  event.  Sarah,  don't  come  in  and  disturb  me  until  I  have  fin- 
ished my  eulogium  on  the  departed  race  of  publishers." 

So  that  was  all  that  came  at  the  moment  of  Mr.  Drummond's 
great  project ;  and  Mrs.  AVarrener  was  once  more  defeated  in  her 
desire  to  be  able  to  write  out  to  Violet  North  that  her  friend  had 
become  famous.  For,  of  course,  whatever  Mr.  Drummond's  own 
notions  on  the  subject  were,  his  sister  was  convinced  that  he  was 
failing  in  his  duty  so  long  as  he  did  not  achieve  a  great  reputa- 
tion ;  and  of  his  capacity  to  do  that  she  had  no  doubt  whatever. 

Events  had  moved  in  a  more  marked  way  with  Mr.  George 
Miller  —  "Young  Miller,"  as  Drummond  now  familiarly  called 
him.  In  the  first  place,  his  father  had  bought  for  him  a  comfort- 
able partnership  which  did  not  make  too  severe  a  call  upon  his 
time;  and  the  young  gentleman  having  thus  started  in  the  world 
for  himself,  preferred  to  leave  the  paternal  roof  and  take  up  his 
lodging  in  Half  Moon  Street,  where  he  had  a  couple  of  sufficient- 
ly pleasant  rooms.  Then  he  had  gained  admittance  to  a  small 
but  very  gorgeous  club  in  Piccadilly,  the  mere  staircase  of  which 
would  have  justified  his  paying  double  the  entrance  fee  demand- 
ed. This,  about  the  most  westerly  in  position  of  the  well-known 
clubs,  was  about  the  most  easterly  in  the  character  of  its  mem- 
bers. It  used  to  be  said  that  the  lost  tribes  of  Israel  had  sud- 
denly turned  up  in  that  imposing  building,  and  that,  as  a  conse- 
quence, the  steward  had  to  excise  bacon  from  his  daily  bill  of 
fare ;  but  these  rude  jokes  came  with  an  ill  grace  from  the  young 
gentlemen  of  the  Stock  Exchange  whose  ancestry  was  much  more 
thoroughly  missing  than  ever  the  lost  tribes  had  been.  Of 
course,  these  two  classes  did  not  make  up  the  membership  of  the 
club.  Far  from  it.  There  was  just  as  large  a  proportion  as  in 
other  clubs  of  gentlemen  who  could  not  have  earned  a  penny 
(except  at  pool)  to  save  their  lives  —  if  that  could  fairly  be  re- 
garded as  an  inducement ;  gentlemen  whose  ancestors  had  con- 
descended to  do  nothing  for  five  centuries,  and  who  were,  in 
consequence,  regarded  with  great  respect.  There  were  lawyers, 
doctors,  bill-discounters,  clergymen  —  in  short,  all  the  ordinary 


A    MESSAGE    HOME.  95 

constituents  of  a  non-political  club ;  and  there  were  one  or  two 
authors,  who  were  occasionally  asked  at  the  last  moment  to  join 
this  or  that  little  dinner  party,  because  they  were  devilish  amus- 
ing fellows,  and  good  for  no  end  of  jokes,  you  know. 

Now,  Mr.  George  Miller  had  become  very  friendly  with  James 
Drummond ;  and  on  several  occasions  the  latter  had  been  induced 
to  dine  at  this  club — let  us  call  it  the  Judauim,  for  distinction's 
sake — with  his  newly-made  acquaintance.  Mr.  Drummond,  dur- 
ing these  evenings,  grew  more  and  more  to  wonder  at  the  ex- 
traordinary knowledge  of  the  world  which  this  young  man  had 
picked  up.  It  was  not  a  knowledge  of  human  nature ;  but  a 
knowledge  of  the  facts  and  circumstances  of  the  life  around  him 
— of  the  petty  ambitions  of  this  man,  of  how  the  next  made  his 
money,  of  the  fashion  in  which  the  other  inpecunious  person 
contrived  to  make  both  ends  meet  by  shifting  his  lodgings  from 
time  to  time.  Mr.  Drummond  perceived  that  young  Miller  was 
an  ingenuous  youth ;  but  how  had  he  picked  up  this  familiarity 
with  the  ways  of  the  world,  which,  after  all,  had  its  value  as  a 
species  of  education  ?  Mr.  Drummond  was  well  content  to  sit 
and  listen  to  the  young  man.  What  he  heard  did  not  edify 
him ;  but  it  interested  him  in  a  way.  Moreover,  there  was  no 
arrogance  of  superior  knowledge  about  the  young  man.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  still  the  humble  scholar  and  disciple  of  this 
whimsical  master ;  and  was  greatly  pleased  when  Gamaliel  invited 
him  to  spend  an  evening  in  the  solitudes  of  that  southern  mount- 
ain, where  he  metaphorically  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  teacher,  and 
listened  with  much  apparent  interest  to  monologues,  not  one- 
fifth  part  of  which  he  could  in  anywise  understand. 

They  were  an  oddly  assorted  couple  of  friends.  But  if  Mr. 
Miller  found  himself  at  a  marked  disadvantage  while  his  teacher 
was  idly  roaming  over  the  fields  of  philosophy,  art,  and  letters, 
culling  a  flower  here  and  there,  and  expounding  its  hidden  vir- 
tues, he,  on  the  other  hand,  was  much  more  at  home  than  Drum- 
mond was  in  railway-stations,  restaurants,  hansom-cabs,  and  what 
not.  Young  Miller  "knew  his  way  about,"  as  the  saying  is. 
When  he  paid  his  money,  he  got  his  money's  worth.  He  smiled 
blandly  at  the  pretenses  of  begging  impostors ;  he  was  not  born 
yesterday.  If  there  was  a  crush  at  a  train,  Mr.  Drummond  would 
give  way  to  the  noisy  and  blustering  person  who  hustled  past 
him — would  stand  aside,  indeed,  in  mild  wonder  over  the  man's 


96  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

manners ;  but  young  Miller  did  not  see  the  fun  of  being  imposed 
on  in  that  fashion.  His  elbows  were  as  sharp  as  any  man's ;  his 
head  as  good  a  battering-ram  as  another's ;  if  it  cost  him  twenty 
hats,  he  would  not  be  deprived  of  his  just  rights. 

One  evening  they  were  dining  together  in  a  quiet  way  at  the 
Judseum.  While  they  were  talking,  the  waiter  had  opened  a  bot- 
tle of  Champagne,  and  filled  their  glasses.  The  moment  Miller 
tasted  the  wine,  he  perceived  that  it  was  wholly  different  from 
that  he  had  ordered,  and,  summoning  the  waiter,  he  asked  him 
Avhat  the  wine  was.  The  man  remembered  the  order,  and  saw  his 
mistake  in  a  moment — he  could  only  look  in  a  helpless  fashion 
at  the  destroyed  bottle. 

"  Take  it  away  and  bring  what  I  ordered." 

When  he  had  gone,  Mr.  Miller  said, 

"  Now  that  will  teach  that  fellow  to  be  a  little  more  careful ; 
that's  eight  shillings  he  has  lost  by  his  blunder." 

The  waiter,  not  looking  very  radiant,  came  back  with  the  prop- 
er wine,  and  the  dinner  went  on. 

"  What  wages  will  that  man  have  ?"  said  Drummond.  He,  too, 
seemed  a  little  depressed. 

"  I  don't  know ;  probably  a  guinea  a  week,  and  his  board  and 
clothes." 

"  He  may  have  a  wife  to  keep,  perhaps  ?" 

"  Possibly  he  may." 

"  Perhaps  she  may  have  children  and  a  small  household  to  sup- 
port on  that  guinea  a  week  ?" 

"  Very  likely." 

Drummond  remained  silent  for  some  little  time ;  he  was  not 
getting  on  well  with  his  dinner.  At  last  he  fairly  flung  down 
his  knife  and  fork,  and  pushed  away  his  plate. 

"Miller,  this  dinner  sticks  in  my  throat?" 

The  younger  man  looked  up  amazed. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  can't  sit  eating  and  drinking  here,  with  that  unfortunate 
devil  robbed  of  more  than  a  third  of  his  week's  earnings.  I  can't 
do  it—" 

"  Is  it  the  waiter?  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  I  will  put  that  right 
in  a  moment." 

He  would  do  any  thing  to  please  his  friend,  of  course.  He 
called  the  waiter  and  told  him  to  have  the  rejected  bottle  of  wine 


A    MESSAGE    HOME. 


97 


added  to  the  dinner-bill ;  the  man  went  away  with  more  gratitude 
in  his  face  than  he  dared  express  in  words. 

"  But  it  is  very  wrong,"  said  young  Miller,  gravely.  "  You  see 
you  don't  understand  these  things,  Drummond — you  don't  like  to 
have  men  treated  like  machines — and  yet  if  you  let  fine  feelings 
come  into  the  management  of  a  club,  you'll  simply  have  bad,  and 
careless,  and  even  impertinent  servants.  There's  nothing  like  let- 
ting them  suffer  the  consequences  of  their  own  mistakes.  Haven't 
we  to  do  the  same  ?  And  who  pities  us  ?  Now,  isn't  there  com- 
mon sense  in  that  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  there's  a  deal  of  common  sense  in  that,"  said  Drum- 
mond, in  a  dry  and  serious  tone  which  always  irritated  his  com- 
panion, who  never  could  tell  whether  it  did  not  conceal  some 
trace  of  sarcasm. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  continued  Miller — he  was  pleased  to  be  able 
to  play  Gamaliel  himself  at  times  —  "  the  moment  you  break  in 
on  strict  discipline,  it  is  all  over  with  the  servants  in  a  club.  I 
remember  a  pretty  instance  of  what  follows  from  familiarity,  and 
friendly  feeling,  and  that  kind  of  thing.  We  had  an  Oxford  par- 
son here — one  of  the  new  school,  you  know — felt  hat,  thick  walk- 
ing-stick, long  tramps,  a  hail-fellow-well-met  sort  of  fellow,  you 
know,  and  a  devil  to  smoke  pipes — and  he  used  to  interest  him- 
self in  the  affairs  of  the  waiters,  and  chat  with  them  about  their 
wives  and  families.  Well,  look  here.  He  was  in  the  smoking- 
room  one  evening — " 

The  face  of  Mr.  Miller  had  grown  properly  solemn.  He  was 
really  anxious  to  impress  on  his  friend  the  true  principles  of  gov- 
erning waiters. 

"He  was  in  the  smoking-room  one  evening,  and  we  were  all 
round  the  fire,  and  he  wanted  a  light.  A  waiter  had  brought  up 
some  things — I  suppose  he  was  one  of  his  pets — and  he  asked 
this  waiter  to  bring  him  a  light.  There  were  no  matches  on  the 
table ;  and  what  does  this  fellow  do  but  take  out  a  match-box  of 
his  own,  get  hold  of  a  wax-match,  strike  it  on  the  heel  of  his  boot 
— on  the  heel  of  his  boot — and  hand  it  over  to  the  parson  !" 

"  Good  heavens !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Drummond,  Avith  an  awe- 
struck face.  "And  what  happened?  Did  the  earth  open  and 
swallow  up  that  fearful  man  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  think  it  is  a  joke,"  said  young  Miller,  rather  nettled ; 
"I  don't,  anyway.     If  one  of  my  father's  servants  did  that  to 

5 


98  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

mc,  I  can  tell  you  he  wouldn't  be  three  minutes  in  the  house. 
And  no  servant  would  do  it,  mind  you,  if  he  hadn't  been  made 
careless  and  cheeky  by  overfamiliarity.  By-the-way,  Lady  North 
is  an  uncommon  good  one  to  look  after  her  servants." 

"  Lady  North  ?"  said  Drummond,  with  a  stare. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  with  complacency.  "  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you,  I  fancy,  how  I  ran  across  them  at  a  picnic  at  Twickenham ; 
and  the  girls  are  very  plain,  don't  you  see,  and  nobody  was  at- 
tending to  them  much ;  and  so  I  became  very  good  friends  with 
them,  mother  and  all." 

"  Was  this  another  of  your  deeply  laid  schemes  ?"  said  Drum- 
mond, with  a  smile ;  thinking  of  the  ingenuous  way  in  which  the 
young  man  had  made  his  own  acquaintance. 

"  No,  it  was  not,  upon  my  honor,"  said  Miller.  "  I  knew  they 
were  to  be  there ;  and  probably  I  should  not  have  gone  if  I  had 
not  known ;  but  the  invitation  was  sent  to  me  without  any  ask- 
ing or  arrangement  on  my  part,  and  Lady  North  is  not  a  bad  sort 
of  woman.  I  dined  with  the  family  and  one  or  two  friends  the 
other  evening.  She  is  rather  cut  and  dried,  you  know,  and  she 
has  remarkably  sharp  gray  eyes  —  by  Jove !  I  can  tell  you,  the 
servants  won't  have  much  of  a  fling  in  that  house.  The  girls 
very  plain — very ;  the  eldest,  Anatolia,  has  taken  rather  a  fancy 
to  me,  I  believe  —  oh,  you  needn't  laugh ;  it  is  no  great  compli- 
ment, I  assure  you." 

And  so  he  let  the  garrulous  boy  run  on,  not  more  amused  by 
his  ingenuous  confessions  than  by  the  shrewd,  keen,  practical  es- 
timates of  men  and  things  he  had  by  hap-hazard  formed.  If  Mr. 
Drummond  had  had  the  honor  of  Lady  North's  acquaintance,  he 
would  probably  have  taken  a  couple  of  months  to  form  a  judg- 
ment about  her;  and  that  judgment  would  have  been  founded 
on  all  sorts  of  speculations  with  regard  to  her  birth,  education, 
temperament,  early  life,  and  present  ambitions.  Young  Miller,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  seen  her  but  twice  or  thrice ;  lie  positively 
knew  nothing  about  her ;  but  he  hit  on  a  very  shrewd  guess  as 
to  her  ways,  and  he  managed  to  convey  to  his  friend  a  pretty 
clear  picture  of  the  short,  fair,  dignified,  stupid,  but  well-meaning 
woman,  whose  excessive  literalness,  and  consequent  suspicion — for 
suspicion  is  the  substitute  employed  by  people  who  lack  imagina- 
tion and  clear  perception — had  almost  driven  her  step  -  daughter 
crazy. 


A    MESSAGE    HOME.  99 

"And  what  about  Vi — about  Miss  North?"  said  James  Drum- 
mond,  rather  hesitatingly.     "  When  do  they  expect  her  home  ?" 

"I  don't  think  the  lonely  Anatolia  is  anxious  for  that  event, 
for  the  chances  of  her  ever  getting  married  won't  be  improved ; 
but  she  says  her  eldest  sister,  as  she  invariably  calls  her,  is  coming 
home  very  soon  now.  Why,  it  is  nearly  two  years  since  she  left ! 
I  wonder  what  she  will  be  like." 

"  What  she  will  be  like  ?  That  is  easily  answered.  What  she 
will  be,  that  is  of  more  importance,"  said  Drummond,  and  for  a 
second  or  two  he  sat  silent.  "  She  will  have  grown  a  woman 
since  you  saw  her." 

"But  you  don't  suppose  any  body  changes  completely  in  a 
couple  of  years?"  exclaimed  Miller. 

"Oh  no,  not  completely,"  said  his  companion,  rather  absently. 
"  What  will  she  be  like  ?  Well,  in  appearance  very  much  what 
she  was — a  little  more  brave  and  self-possessed  in  manner,  proba- 
bly, as  becomes  a  woman.  And  doubtless  she  will  be  handsomer 
than  ever.  But  as  to  what  sort  of  a  Avoman  she  has  become  by 
this  time — who  can  tell  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  suppose  there  can  be  much  difference,"  said  young 
Miller,  impatiently. 

His  friend  smiled  good-naturedly. 

"You  boys!"  he  said.  "  It  is  always  the  one  notion  you  have 
got  into  your  head.  You  hope  she  has  remained  the  same,  that 
you  may  resume  that  piece  of  romanticism  that  was  so  cruelly 
broken  off.     Isn't  that  it  ?" 

"  Well  ?"  said  the  young  man,  ingenuously  and  modestly. 

"You  think  the  school-girl  is  coming  back  to  play  at  sweet- 
hearting  again  ?  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed.  A  girl 
grows  so  terribly — in  experience,  in  character,  in  aims — between 
seventeen  and  twenty  !  Do  you  know,  Miller,  that  you  Avill  have 
to  introduce  yourself  to  a  new  Miss  Nortli  ?" 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  other.  "  How  can  you  tell  ? 
Because  she  has  written  clever  letters  ?  But  every  body  is  formal 
in  letters ;  and  I  don't  suppose  she  talks  like  that." 

"I  don't  suppose  she  does,"  said  Drummond,  apparently  think- 
ing of  something  very  far  away  from  that  dinner-table ;  and  so 
the  subject  dropped  for  the  moment. 

As  they  were  walking  along  Piccadilly  that  night,  Miller  said, 

"  I  hear  that  Sir  Acton  North  is  a  very  rich  man." 


100  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  I  suppose  he  is,"  Drummond  answered. 

"  He  has  got  an  uncommonly  fine  collection  of  pictures ;  at  least 
so  one  or  two  of  the  people  there  the  other  evening  were  saying. 
I'm  not  up  to  that  sort  of  thing.  By  Jove  !  if  I  had  his  money,  I 
shouldn't  spend  it  on  pictures  and  live  in  Euston  Square.  How 
much  do  you  think  he  will  give  his  eldest  daughter  when  she 
marries  ?" 

Drummond  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  question  !  Do  you  think  life  is  long 
enough  to  let  one  speculate  on  conundrums  like  that?  What 
possible  interest  could  I  have  in  making  guesses  as  to  Violet 
North's  fortune  ?" 

But  he  suddenly  recollected  himself.  He  looked  at  his  com- 
panion with  a  sort  of  surprised  curiosity  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  see :  you — do  you  expect  to  have  an  interest  in  that 
question  ?" 

"  I  say  nothing  about  myself,"  said  the  younger  man,  rather 
peevishly.  "  What  harm  is  there  in  asking  what  money  a  girl  is 
likely  to  have  ?  Of  course,  I  expect  the  girl  I  shall  marry,  who- 
ever she  may  be,  to  have  some  money.  I  shall  have  some.  There 
is  no  great  mercenariness  about  that,  is  there  ?  It  appears  to  me 
reasonable  enough.  You  seem  to  think  that  any  one  on  this  side 
of  thirty  must  have  his  head  stuffed  full  of  romance  and  trash. 
Well,  I  don't  make  any  pretense  of  that  kind.  I  think  it  is  a  fair 
bargain — you  bring  so  much  money  into  the  affair,  and  I  don't 
see  why  the  girl  shouldn't  also — just  as  the  women  of  the  poorer 
classes  bring  a  chest  of  drawers  and  some  blankets.  It  makes  a 
woman  far  more  independent,  too.  She  can  indulge  in  expensive 
tastes,  and  charity,  and  all  that,  without  feeling  that  she  is  draw- 
ing too  hard  on  her  husband.     Now  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Drummond.     "  It  is  reasonable." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  reasonable,"  said  young  Miller,  rather  warm- 
ly. "And  don't  you  think  a  reasonable  woman  would  have  the 
same  notions  ?  A  school-girl,  of  course,  is  all  for  love  and  love's 
sake  alone,  and  moonlight,  and  rope-ladders.  A  sensible  woman 
knows  the  cost  of  a  house  in  Hyde  Park  Square,  and  is  precious 
glad  to  have  two  incomes  instead  of  one  for  her  family." 

"And  then,  you  see,  Violet  North  is  coming  back  a  sensible 
woman,  not  a  school  -  girl,"  remarked  Mr.  Drummond,  kindly 
bringing  these  various  statements  to  a  legitimate  conclusion. 


A    MESSAGE    HOME.  101 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  quite  mean  that,"  said  the  younger  man.  "  Not 
at  all.  I  was  only  saying  that  when  I  married  I  should  not  be 
at  all  offended  if  the  girl  had  a  little  money  of  her  own.  I  don't 
suppose  I  am  more  mercenary  than  other  people;  but  I  see  what 
the  effect  is  of  starting  a  house  and  family  on  the  income  that 
was  all  very  well  for  a  bachelor's  rooms." 

"  Quite  right ;  quite  right." 

Now  there  was  nothing  that  Mr.  Miller  disliked  so  much  as  be- 
ing dismissed  in  this  fashion  when  he  was  trying  to  engage  his 
newly  formed  acquaintance  in  talk.  James  Drummond  scarcely 
ever  agreed  with  any  body;  and  when  he  briefly  said,  "All  right," 
or  "  Very  well ;  quite  true,"  it  was  a  sure  sign  that  he  simply 
would  not  take  the  trouble  to  enter  into  the  subject.  Fortunate- 
ly, at  this  moment  they  had  just  got  to  the  corner  of  Half  Moon 
Street ;  so  they  separated,  and  Drummond  got  into  a  hansom  and 
made  for  home. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight  after  this  evening  that  young  Miller 
found  himself  the  guest  of  Mr.  Drummond ;  and  the  small  circle 
— which  now  included  little  Amy  Warrener,  who  had  become  al- 
most a  young  lady — was  listening  to  the  disquisitions  of  a  philos- 
opher who  shall  be  nameless.  He  was  laboring  to  prove  —  or, 
rather,  he  was  dogmatically  asserting — that  the  happy  man  was 
he  who  could  forget  the  past  and  disregard  the  future,  fixing  his 
attention  on  the  occupation  of  the  moment,  and  taking  such  joys 
as  came  in  his  way  Avith  a  light  heart.  Why  think  of  the  long 
drive  home  if  you  are  at  the  theatre  ?  Why  think  of  the  next 
day's  awakening  and  work,  if  you  are  spending  a  pleasant  even- 
ing? The  philosopher  in  question  maintained  that  this  banish- 
ment of  anticipation  was  a  habit  which  could  be  cultivated ;  and 
that  a  wise  man  would  resolve  to  acquire  so  invaluable  a  habit. 

"  And  then,"  said  he,  contradicting  himself  with  happy  care- 
lessness, "  what  are  the  joys  of  the  moment  to  your  expectations 
of  them  ?  Put  them  well  on  ahead ;  give  yourself  up  to  imagi- 
ning them ;  and  you  will  reap  the  value  of  them  twenty  times 
over  before  they  arrive.  We,  for  example,  mean  to  go  up  again 
to  the  Highlands  this  autumn — " 

Here  a  young  lady  clapped  her  hands  with  joy. 

"  — and  at  the  present  moment  the  Highlands  are  a  greater 
delight  to  me  than  they  will  be  then.  I  can  defy  those  rushing 
butchers'  carts,  those  inhuman  organ-men,  the  fear  of  formal  calls, 


102  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

by  jumping  off  into  the  Highlands,  and  becoming  a  savage — a 
real  out-and-out  savage,  careless  of  wind  and  rain  and  sunlight, 
and  determined  to  slay  all  the  wild  animals  I  can  find  in  a  day's 
tramping  over  the  heather — " 

"  Have  you  much  game  in  that  place  ?"  asked  the  practical  Mr. 
Miller. 

"  Plenty  !"  cried  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  cruel  frankness.  "  But 
he  never  hits  any  thing.  I  believe  we  should  never  have  a  bird 
or  a  hare  except  for  old  Peter." 

"  Libels — mere  libels,"  said  the  philosopher,  returning  to  his 
subject.  "  Now  just  think  of  the  delight — here  in  this  howling 
wilderness  of  London — of  taking  out  your  gun,  and  seeing  that  it 
is  all  well  oiled  and  polished ;  of  trying  on  your  leggings  to  take 
the  stiffness  out  of  them ;  of  hauling  out  your  old  shooting-coat 
and  finding  in  it  a  bill  telling  you  at  what  hour  the  coach  starts 
for  the  Moor  of  Rannoch.  Now,  this  is  real  delight.  I  snap  my 
fingers  at  London.     I  become  a  savage — " 

Just  at  this  moment  the  maid  tapped  at  the  door  and  brought 
in  a  letter.     Surely  he  knew  the  handwriting  ? 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  he,  hurriedly  breaking  open  the  en- 
velope, "  when  I  tell  you — yes,  I  thought  so — Violet  North  is,  by 
Jove,  in  London !" 

The  Highlands  were  forgotten  in  a  twinkling. 

"Oh,  uncle,  when  is  she  coming  over?"  cried  Miss  Amy,  with 
piteous  eyes. 

"  Already  back  in  London  !"  cried  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  And  where  is  she  living  ?"  cried  young  Miller. 

Mr.  Drummond  stood  out  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  holding 
the  folded  letter  up  in  the  air. 

"Ha-ha,  my  young  people,  there  are  secrets  here.  Who  will 
bid  for  them  ?  A  thousand  mines  of  C4olconda  the  first  offer ! 
No  advance  on  that  ? — why — " 

Well,  he  stopped  there — and  all  the  merry-making  went  out  of 
his  face — for  some  one  at  the  door  said,  quietly, 

"  May  I  come  in  ?" 

Amy  Warrener  was  the  first  to  answer ;  and  her  answer  was  a 
quick,  sharp  cry  of  delight  as  she  sprung  to  the  door.  Then  the 
door  was  opened ;  and  a  tall  young  lady  walked  into  the  room, 
with  wonder  and  gladness  and  shyness  on  her  handsome  face. 


HOME.  103 


CHAPTER  XI. 


For  a  second  or  two  she  was  smothered  up  in  the  embraces  of 
the  women ;  then  she  turned,  with  a  heightened  color  in  her  face 
and  a  glad  look  in  her  eyes,  but  with  a  wonderful  grace  and  ease 
and  dignity  in  her  manner,  to  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  guest. 
Amy  Warrener,  herself  "  laughin'  maist  like  to  greet,"  became 
aware  in  an  instant  that,  although  this  was  Violet  North  come 
back  again,  she  was  not  quite  her  own  Violet  of  former  days. 
There  was  some  new  and  inexplicable  quality  about  her  manner 
— a  sort  of  gracious  self-possession  that  bespoke  the  development 
of  womanhood. 

And  yet  it  was  with  all  a  girl's  vivacity  and  eager,  impetuous 
curiosity  that  she  began  to  pour  out  questions.  She  wanted  to 
know  all  at  once  what  they  had  been  doing,  where  her  school- 
girl friends  were,  how  Miss  Main  was  getting  on  ;  and  then  she 
suddenly  cried  out, 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  nice  it  is  to  be  home  again  !  and  I 
could  not  feel  at  home  in  England  until  I  came  over  here." 

"  And  don't  you  notice  any  changes  ?"  Drummond  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  looking  more  particularly  at  him  ;  "  I  scarce- 
ly understand  it  all  yet.  It  is  like  a  dream  as  yet — such  a  change 
from  what  I  expected." 

"  Two  years  make  a  difference,"  said  he.  "  We  have  not  kept 
stationary  any  more  than  you  have ;  and  you ! — why,  you  have 
grown  a  woman." 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  exactly  the  reverse  of  that  I  meant !"  she  said, 
anxiously.  "  You  look  all  so  much  younger  than  I  expected — 
except  Amy.  Why,  I  used  to  look  on  you,  Mr.  Drummond,  as — 
as  rather — " 

"As  rather  an  old  fellow  !"  he  called  out,  with  a  shout  of  laugh- 
ter over  her  embarrassment.  "  Well,  I  am  old  enough,  Violet,  to 
warn  you  not  to  make  people  such  compliments  as  these.  And 
so  you  think  we  have  grown  younger?" 


104  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  You  especially — oh,  so  much !" 

"  And  I  also  ?"  young  Miller  made  bold  to  ask,  though  he  cast 
down  his  eyes. 

Now  these  two  had  not  spoken  before.  When  she  came  into 
the  room,  she  had  glanced  at  him  with  some  surprise  ;  then,  from 
time  to  time,  she  let  her  eyes  fall  on  his  face  with  an  expression 
of  a  half -shy,  half -humorous  curiosity.  Now  she  mustered  up 
courage  to  look  him  straight  in  the  face ;  and  a  trifle  of  color 
mounted  into  her  cheeks  as  she  answered,  in  a  somewhat  low  and 
embarrassed  way, 

"  I  am  afraid  I  scarcely  can  recollect  well  enough.  You  know 
our — our  acquaintance  was  very  short." 

So  she  had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  remember  him ! 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  rather  shortly,  "  you  made  enough  friends 
out  there  to  pass  the  time  with." 

"I  forgot  none  of  my  friends  in  England,"  she  said,  gently. 
The  reproof  was  just :  he  had  no  right,  she  plainly  intimated,  to 
put  himself  on  a  level  with  these  old  friends  of  hers. 

By  this  time  the  little  party  had  got  better  shaken  together — 
the  first  eager  curiosity  being  over — and  now  Miss  Violet  began 
to  tell  them  something  of  her  wonderful  adventures  and  experi- 
ences. But  the  strange  thing  was  that  the  recital  mainly  pro- 
ceeded from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Drummond.  It  was  by  the  exercise 
of  a  curious,  swift,  subtle  sympathy  that  he  seemed  to  divine 
what  would  be  the  notions  of  a  girl  in  this  new  country ;  and  as 
she  went  on,  mentioning  this  circumstance  and  the  other,  he  took 
the  parable  out  of  her  mouth  and  made  himself  the  interpreter. 
No  one  noticed  that  he  did  so.  It  seemed  to  be  Violet  North 
herself  talking. 

"  Precisely,"  he  would  say,  "  I  quite  see  how  that  half-civilized 
life  must  have  struck  you.  Don't  you  see,  you  were  getting  then 
some  notion  of  how  the  human  race  began  to  fight  with  nature 
long  before  cities  were  built.  You  saw  them  clearing  the  woods, 
making  roads,  building  houses,  founding  small  communities.  You 
saw  the  birth  of  villages,  and  the  formation  of  states.  You  saw 
the  beginnings  of  civilization,  as  it  were,  and  the  necessity  of  mut- 
ual helpfulness  among  the  settlers,  and  the  general  rough-and- 
ready  education  of  such  a  life.  Don't  you  think  it  must  have 
been  a  valuable  experience  to  find  out  how  thoroughly  new  life 
can  be  ?     Here  in  London,  I  have  no  doubt,  you  got  it  into  your 


HOME.  105 

head  that  the  houses  and-  shops  must  have  existed  there  forever ; 
that  the  trains  to  Ludgate  Hill  and  Victoria  were  a  necessary 
part  of  the  world ;  that  all  the  elaborate  institutions  and  habits 
of  city  life  were  fixed  and  unalterable — " 

"And  then  it  was  so  interesting,  in  these  places,  to  find  out 
what  sorts  of  food  they  had :  I  got  quite  learned  in  crops — " 

"Ah,  yes,  precisely.  There  you  saw  food  at  its  fountain-head, 
not  in  blue  packets  in  a  grocer's  shop.  And  of  course  every  man 
would  have  a  pride  in  his  own  fields,  and  ask  you  what  you 
thought  of  his  crops,  and  you  would  come  to  see  something  else 
in  a  landscape  than  the  mere  colors  that  an  English  young  lady 
would  see.  The  cattle — did  you  begin  to  learn  something  of  the 
points  of  the  cattle  ?" 

She  had  to  confess  her  ignorance  in  that  direction. 

"  Then  the  wilder  and  fiercer  cattle,  Violet :  go  on  and  tell  us 
of  buffaloes,  and  grizzlies,  and  mustangs — I  have  loved  the  word 
mustang  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  Gracious  me !  how  I  used  to 
long  for  the  life  of  a  savage  —  for  prairies,  and  Avar -trails,  and 
squaws,  and  moccasins :  Violet,  did  you  ever  snare  a  brace  of 
moccasins  when  you  were  meandering  about  the  Rocky  Mount- 
ains ?" 

"  If  I  were  you,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet  sarcasm,  I  would  say, 
'  moccasins,'  not '  moccasins  !'  " 

"  Thus  it  is  she  crushes  us  with  her  newly  found  knowledge. 
But  we  are  willing  to  learn.  Violet,  you  shall  teach  us  all  about 
assegais  and  boomerangs — but  those  don't  belong  to  America,  do 
they  ? — and  we  shall  admire  the  noble  savage." 

"You  were  talking  of  the  delights  of  a  savage  life  —  in  the 
Highlands — just  before  Miss  North  came  in  to  surprise  us,"  said 
Mr.  Miller. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Miss  North,  suddenly,  "  why  didn't  you  go  to  the 
Highlands  last  year?  I  thought  you  had  determined  to  go  every 
year,  after  your  first  experience  the  year  before  last." 

"  The  truth  is — "  said  Mr.  Drummond,  with  some  embarrass- 
ment. 

Young  Miller  broke  in,  proud  to  be  able  to  convey  informa- 
tion, 

"  He  won't  tell  you,  Miss  North.  The  fact  is,  he  went  and 
gave  his  holiday-money  to  a  clergyman's  widow  to  take  her  fam- 
ily down  to  the  sea-side ;  and  if  you  ask  my  opinion  about  it,  I 


100  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

think  it  was  much  too  much  of  a  good  thing.     I  don't  see  the 
fun  of — " 

"Violet,  what  did  you  think  of  New  York?''  said  Drummond, 
quickly. 

The  girl  laughed :  she  knew  lie  was  not  anxious  to  know  her 
opinion  of  New  York. 

"  But  you  are  going  this  year  to  the  Highlands  ?"  she  said. 

"  We  hope  so." 

"  I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,"  the  girl  said,  simply  and  nat- 
urally. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you?"  said  Mr.  Miller,  boldly. 

It  was  a  pretty  project  that  he  then  and  there  formed.  Miss 
North  would  go  up  to  that  shooting-box  with  her  friends,  and 
pleasant  indeed  would  be  the  parties  they  would  have  in  the 
evening,  when  the  toils  of  the  day  were  over.  And  if  a  certain 
young  man  should  happen  to  be  in  the  neighborhood — by  the 
merest  chance,  of  course — could  so  hospitable  and  generous  and 
kindly  a  fellow  as  Mr.  Drummond  was  refuse  to  offer  him  a  few 
days'  shooting  ?  Then  there  would  be  odd  moments  now  and 
again  for  clamberings  up  the  hills,  in  order  to  sit  on  the  sunlit 
rocks  and  listen  to  the  humming  of  the  bees,  or  for  quiet  and 
pensive  strolls  along  the  valleys  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  with 
the  mountains  losing  the  last  fire  of  the  sunset,  and  a  white  mist 
gathering  along  the  bed  of  the  distant  loch.  Mr.  Miller  looked 
anxiously  for  an  answer  to  this  proposal. 

"Why  shouldn't  you?"  echoed  Mr.  Drummond.  "We  will 
make  you  welcome  enough." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  indeed,"  she  said,  with  a  smile ;  "  but  I 
am  under  proper  government  now.  Lady  North  means  to  try  to 
put  up  with  me  as  well  as  she  can ;  and  my  sisters  almost  succeed- 
ed this  morning  in  making  me  believe  they  liked  me.  So  I  am  to 
stay  on  there  ;  and  I  suppose,  in  consequence,  we  shall  move  west- 
ward some  day  soon.  That  will  be  hard  on  poor  papa;  for  he 
will  shift  his  house  all  for  nothing — " 

"Why,  Violet?" 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  her  ordinary  cool  frankness, 
"  Lady  North  and  I  are  sure  to  have  a  fight — quite  sure.  I  think 
her  a  mean-spirited  and  tricky  little  woman;  she  thinks  that  I 
have  a  frightfully  bad  temper  :  so  it  will  be  just  as  it  was  before." 

"There  you  are  quite  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  quietly. 


HOME.  107 

"  It  will  not  be  as  it  was  before,  but  very  different.  Do  you  know 
what  people  will  say  of  you  now,  if  you  and  Lady  North  don't 
agree  ?  Why,  that  you  have  such  a  bad  temper  that  you  can  not 
live  in  your  father's  house." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  true  enough,"  she  said,  with  great  modesty ; 
and  Amy  Warrener  saw  something  in  her  mischievous  smile  of 
the  Violet  of  other  days. 

"And  then,"  continued  her  Mentor,  "formerly,  when  you  had 
a  quarrel,  you  could  live  at  Miss  Main's  school.  Where  would  you 
go  now  ?     Not  to  school  again  ?" 

"Ah,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  look,  "  don't  let  us  talk  of 
all  those  unpleasant  things  now  ;  for  I  am  so  glad  to  get  back  and 
be  among  you  again,  that  I  am  disposed  to  be  humble  and  obedi- 
ent even  to  my  step-mother.  And  she  is  really  trying  to  be  very 
kind  to  me  just  now.  I  am  to  keep  the  brougham  to-night  till 
eleven  o'clock,  if  you  don't  turn  me  out  before  then.  •  And  Lady 
North  is  coming  over  to  call  on  you,  Mrs.  AVarrener;  and  she 
wants  you  all  to  come  to  her  next  'At  Home'  on  the  30th.  I 
think  you  have  got  a  card,  Mr.  Miller?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  some  embarrassment.  "  Do  you  think 
your  father  would  object  to  my  going  ?" 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  she  answered,  confidently.  "  Papa  never  keeps 
up  old  scores ;  and,  as  well  as  I  can  recollect,  you — you — seemed 
to  have  pleased  him  by  going  to  him  frankly.  How  silly  we 
were !"  she  added,  quickly,  and  with  a  return  of  the  warm  color 
to  her  cheeks. 

They  got  away  from  that  subject  also,  however,  and  no  other 
reference  was  made  to  it.  The  girl  was  altogether  delighted  to  be 
with  her  old  friends  again ;  and  the  changes  she  had  noticed  on 
her  entrance  became  less  prominent  now.  She  submitted,  just  as 
she  had  done  in  her  school-girl  days,  to  be  alternately  lectured, 
teased,  and  laughed  at  by  Mr.  Drummond ;  and  she  did  not  mind 
his  continually  calling  her  Violet.  She  made  Mrs.  Warrener  prom- 
ise to  bring  them  all  to  Lady  North's  party.  She  would  have 
Amy  come  with  her  for  her  first  drive  in  the  park,  where,  as  her 
father  had  consented,  she  should  herself  drive  Lady  North's  vic- 
toria and  pair  of  ponies. 

Mr.  Miller  got  the  least  share  of  her  attention.  These  two  rare- 
ly spoke  to  each  other,  and  then  never  without  a  little  embarrass- 
ment; but  very  frequently  she  had  a  quiet,  curious  look  at  him, 


108  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

apparently  trying  to  discover  something.  As  for  him,  he  simply 
sat  and  stared  at  her — watching  her  every  movement,  fascinated 
by  her  voice,  her  smile,  the  bright,  frank  look  of  those  darkly 
lashed  eyes.  But  a  great  joy  was  in  store  for  him.  For  some 
purpose  or  other,  she  took  from  her  pocket  a  small  pencil,  but 
found  it  was  broken. 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  get  it  mended  for  you,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "  I 
know  a  man  who  is  capital  for  that." 

"  Is  it  worth  it?"  said  she,  handing  it  over. 

His  reply  was  to  take  from  his  pocket  a  beautiful  little  pen  and 
pencil-case,  with  a  knife  attached ;  and  this  he  begged  her  to  ac- 
cept in  exchange,  as  it  was  better  fitted  for  a  lady  than  for  him. 

"  In  exchange  ?"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  was  worth  to  him 
more  than  a  thousand  pencil-cases.  "  That  would  be  a  profitable 
exchange.  This  one  is  gold;  mine  is  aluminium.  Thank  you, 
but  I  could  not  rob  you." 

"Well,  at  all  events,  you  can  keep  it  until  I  return  you  this 
one  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  "  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

He  put  that  humble  little  pencil-case — worth  about  five  shil- 
lings— in  his  pocket  with  as  much  pride  as  if  it  had  been  made 
of  ivory  and  diamonds;  and  he  secretly  vowed  that  she  should 
never  see  it  again,  even  if  she  lived  for  a  thousand  years. 

Then,  in  the  old  familiar  fashion  of  spending  the  evening  which 
Violet  knew  so  well,  Mary,  the  maid -servant,  came  in  with  the 
frugal  supper ;  and  there  was  great  amusement  over  her  wonder 
at  seeing  Miss  North. 

"  How  are  you,  Mary  ?  Are  you  quite  well  ?"  said  that  young 
lady,  who  was  a  great  friend  of  all  maid  -  servants  and  folks  in 
humble  capacity. 

"  Oh  yes,  miss,"  stammered  Mary ;  "  I  mean,  ma'am  —  I  am 
pretty  well,  thank  you." 

"  Now,  there  is  but  one  question  more  I  have  to  ask,"  said  Vio- 
let, as  they  all  sat  round  the  small  white  -  covered  table,  "  and  I 
am  almost  afraid  to  ask  it.  Have  they  built  over  Grove  Park 
yet?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  the  big  cedars  are  still  there,  and  the  tall  elms,  and  the 
rooks'  nests?" 

"  Not  a  thing  altered  since  you  left." 


HOME.  109 

"Ah,  well !  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  when  I  used  to  think  of 
the  happiest  time  I  ever  spent  in  England,  and  the  most  beauti- 
ful place  I  could  remember,  I  always  thought  of  those  Christmas 
holidays  I  spent  with  you,  and  of  our  walks  at  night  in  the  snow. 
Do  you  remember  how  we  used  to  go  out  quite  late  at  night, 
with  the  hard  snow  crackling  beneath  one's  feet,  the  gas-lamps 
shining  on  the  trees,  and  then  go  away  into  the  park,  through  the 
darkness  of  those  cedars  near  the  gate  ?  Then  I  used  to  think  of 
the  silence  we  got  into — by  the  side  of  the  meadows  :  one  seem- 
ed to  be  up  quite  close  to  the  stars,  and  you  could  not  imagine 
there  was  any  body  living  in  those  two  or  three  houses.  And  as 
for  London — though  it  lay  almost  under  our  feet — you  know,  you 
could  see  or  hear  nothing  of  it — there  was  nothing  all  around  but 
the  white  snow,  and  the  black  trees,  and  the  stars.  Do  you  re- 
member all  that  ?" 

"  But  where  is  it  ?"  said  young  Miller,  looking  puzzled.  Could 
she  be  talking  so  enthusiastically  about  some  place  in  Camber- 
well  ? 

"  Over  the  way,"  she  said,  promptly.    "  Five  minutes'  walk  off." 

"And  that  is  the  most  beautiful  place  you  can  remember?" 
said  he.     "And  you  have  been  to  Chamounix?" 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  she  said,  boldly.  "  I  like  Camberwell  better  than 
Chamounix,  and  therefore  it  is  more  beautiful.  But  I  was  speak- 
ing of  the  snow-time,  and  the  stars,  and  the  quiet  of  the  frosty 
nights.  Perhaps  you  have  never  been  into  Grove  Park?  If  you 
walk  round  that  way  now — " 

"  I  propose  we  do,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  as  soon  as  we  fin- 
ish supper.  I  am  anxious  to  discover  what  it  is  in  the  place  that 
makes  it  the  rival  of  Chamounix." 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?"  she  said,  with  great  disappointment 
visible  in  her  face. 

"  I  remember  the  wonderful  starlit  nights  and  the  snow,  cer- 
tainly," said  he. 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  "  weren't  they  worth  remembering  ? 
As  to  Chamounix — well,  as  to  Chamounix — what  can  one  remem- 
ber of  Chamounix  ?  I  know  what  I  remember — crowded  tables- 
cVhote,  hot  walks  in  stilling  valleys,  firing  cannon,  and  looking 
through  a  telescope,  and  all  the  ladies  trying  who  could  get  up 
the  most  striking  costumes  for  dinner.  To  go  about  a  place  like 
that  with  a  lot  of  people  you  don't  like — " 


110  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Here,  for  some  occult  reason,  Mr.  Drummond  burst  into  a 
most  impertinent  fit  of  laughing. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  with  her  color  rising,  "  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  own  it.  I  liked  the  people  with  whom  I  went  walking  about 
Grove  Park.  If  that  has  any  thing  to  do  with  it,  I  am  very  glad 
of  it,  for  the  sake  of  the  park." 

"  And  they  were  very  fond  of  you  too,  Violet,"  said  her  old 
school -fellow,  Amy,  with  unexpected  decision.  "And  you  are 
quite  right.  And  I  would — I  would  hate  Chamounix,  if  I  were 
you." 

"Why,  child,  what  do  you  know  about  Chamounix?"  her 
mother  said. 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  any  thing  about  it — I  hate  it." 

So  that  closed  the  discussion,  which  had  ended  in  a  unanimous 
decision  that  Chamounix  was  a  miserable  and  despicable  place  as 
compared  with  a  certain  chosen  spot  in  Camberwell. 

Now,  if  Miss  North's  love  and  admiration  for  Grove  Park  were 
largely  based  on  the  romantic  conditions  in  which  she  remembered 
to  have  seen  the  place,  surely  Mr.  Miller's  impressions  were  likely 
to  be  equally  favorable.  For  when  they  went  outside  into  the 
cold  night  air  there  was  an  appearance  in  the  sky  overhead  that 
told  how  the  moon  was  visible  somewhere ;  and  they  knew  that 
Avhen  they  got  round  into  the  high  and  open  spaces  of  the  park 
a  vast  and  moonlit  landscape  would  be  unrolled  before  their  eyes. 
Miss  Violet  and  Mrs.  Warrener  led  the  way ;  naturally  the  discov- 
erer of  this  wonderful  place  was  pioneer.  There  was  scarcely 
any  one  about ;  the  footfalls  of  the  small  party  were  plainly  heard 
in  the  silence  of  the  grove.  Then  they  reached  the  gloomy  port- 
als of  the  park — gloomy  because  of  the  cedars  about — and  then 
they  left  the  region  of  bright  gas -lamps,  and  passed  in  and 
through  the  darkness  of  the  overhanging  trees. 

The  night  was  indeed  a  beautiful  one,  though  as  yet  they  had 
not  seen  the  moon.  The  sky  overhead  was  clear,  and  full  of  pale 
stars ;  in  the  south  a  lambent  planet  was  shining.  How  solemn- 
ly stood  the  great  trees,  their  spreading  branches  of  a  jet  black 
against  the  far-off  vault  of  blue,  not  a  rustle  of  their  leaves  break- 
ing the  deep  stillness.  There  was  a  scent  of  hay  in  the  air,  one 
of  the  meadows  adjoining  having  just  been  cut. 

When  at  length  they  had  reached  the  highest  portion  of  the 
park,  and  got  by  one  or  two  tall  and  silent  houses,  behold !  they 


HOME.  Ill 

came  upon  a  wonderful  spectacle.  No  dramatic  surprise  could 
have  been  more  skillfully  arranged ;  for  they  had  become  accus- 
tomed to  the  clear  and  serene  darkness  of  the  night,  and  the 
twinkling  of  the  pale  stars,  and  the  motionless  blackness  of  the 
lofty  trees,  and  had  no  further  expectation.  But  all  at  once  they 
found  before  them,  as  they  looked  away  over  to  Sydenham,  a 
great  moonlit  space ;  the  air  filled  with  a  strange  pale  glamour 
that  seemed  to  lie  over  the  broad  valley ;  while  the  full  yellow 
moon  herself  hung  like  a  great  globe  of  fire  immediately  over 
a  long,  low  line  of  hill  stretching  across  the  southern  horizon. 
These  heights,  lying  under  this  glory  of  moonlight,  would  have 
seemed  dusky,  mystic,  and  remote,  but  that  here  and  there  glit- 
tered bright  spots  of  yellow  fire,  telling  of  houses  hidden  among 
trees,  and  overlooking  the  wide  plain.  It  was  a  wonderful  pano- 
rama :  the  burning  stars  of  gold  on  the  shadowy  heights,  the  full 
yellow  moon  in  the  violet-gray  sky,  the  pale  light  over  the  plain, 
and  the  black  trees  close  at  hand,  the  southward-looking  branch- 
es of  which  were  touched  here  and  there  by  the  mild  radiance. 
Then  the  extreme  silence  of  the  place — as  if  that  were  a  pageant 
all  lighted  up  in  an  uninhabited  world — the  cold,  sweet  night  air 
— the  mystery  and  sadness  of  the  stars. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Drummond,  with  a  sigh,  "it  does  not  matter 
whether  it  is  Camberwell  or  Chamounix ;  you  get  very  close  to 
heaven  on  a  night  like  this." 

Young  Miller  felt  that  in  his  heart  too,  for  he  was  standing 
beside  Violet  North ;  and  as  she  was  gazing  away  down  into  tho 
south,  with  absent  and  wistful  eyes,  he  could  watch  with  impuni- 
ty the  beautiful  outlines  of  her  face,  now  touched  with  a  pale  and 
mystic  light.  He  wished  to  speak  to  her,  and  yet  he  was  afraid 
to  break  the  strange  stillness.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of 
his  presence ;  but  it  was  with  a  secret  thrill  of  pleasure  that  from 
time  to  time  his  fingers  were  touched  by  the  corner  of  the  light 
shawl  she  wore. 

"  Is  this  as  fine  as  what  you  remember  ?"  he  said  to  hor,  at 
length,  in  a  low  voice. 

She  seemed  to  try  to  collect  herself.  She  looked  at  him  and 
said  "  Yes ;"  but  presently  he  saw  her  turn  her  head  away,  and 
he  had  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  great  tears  that  stood  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Young  Miller,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  as  they  walked  back, 


112  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  we  have  beaten  down  your  Chamounix ;  we  have  destroyed 
Mont  Blanc  ;  the  Glacier  des  Boissons  is  no  more." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  the  young  man,  humbly  ;  "  I  give  in." 

Now,  when  Violet  got  back  to  the  house,  she  found  her  father's 
brougham  at  the  door,  and  she  would  not  enter  with  them.  But 
she  said  to  Mr.  Miller,  who  happened  to  be  her  companion  at  the 
moment, 

"  I  have  some  little  presents  for  my  friends  here ;  would  you 
kindly  take  them  in  for  me  ?" 

There  was,  after  all,  some  school-girl  shyness  about  this  young 
lady  ;  she  had  not  had  the  courage  to  offer  them  the  presents  her- 
self. And  how  gladly  he  undertook  the  commission !  He  was 
proud  to  have  her  confidence  in  this  small  matter. 

Then  she  bid  good-bye  to  them  all.  She  was  a  little  silent  as 
she  left ;  it  was  like  going  away  once  more  from  home. 

"  Then  I  shall  see  you  on  the  30th,"  said  George  Miller,  look- 
ing at  her  rather  timidly. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  simply ;  and 
then  she  drove  away. 

He  carried  the  parcels  into  the  house ;  they  were  all  neatly 
wrapped  up  and  addressed.  He  undertook  the  business  of  open- 
ing them  and  displaying  their  contents ;  and  lo !  there  was  on 
the  table  a  wonderful  assortment  of  gifts,  with  the  fancy  of  a  girl 
apparent  in  them.  For  she  had  brought  strange  Indian  pipes, 
decorated  with  silver  and  colors  and  silk,  for  Mr.  Drummond,  and 
a  little  case  containing  a  couple  of  revolvers  with  ivory  and  silver 
handles;  and  there  were  fans  and  a  marvelous  shawl  for  Mrs. 
Warrener ;  and  there  was  an  extraordinary  necklet  of  pale  coral, 
with  bracelets  and  what  not,  for  her  daughter.  James  Drum- 
mond, gazing  with  astonishment  at  this  goodly  show,  pronounced 
an  oration  over  them. 

"  There  was  once  upon  a  time,"  said  he,  "  a  company  of  poor 
folk  sitting  very  disconsolate  in  a  room  together,  and  they  had 
grown  rather  gloomy,  and  tired  of  the  dullness  and  grayness  of 
life.  And  all  at  once  there  appeared  to  them  a  fairy  princess, 
with  a  beautiful  smile  on  her  face ;  and  she  came  among  them 
and  talked  to  them,  and  all  the  sadness  went  out  of  their  hearts, 
and  she  cheered  them  so  that  they  began  to  think  that  life  was 
quite  enjoyable  and  lovely  again.  And  when  she  went  away, 
what  did  they  find  ?     Why,  she  had  left  behind  her,  without  say- 


HOME.  113 

ing  a  word  about  it,  all  manner  of  precious  and  beautiful  things, 
and  the  poor  folk  were  almost  afraid  to  touch  them,  in  case  they 
should  crumble  away.  But  they  didn't  crumble  away  at  all ;  for 
she  was  a  real,  live,  human  fairy ;  and  hadn't  she  promised  to 
come  back,  too,  and  cheer  them  up  a  bit  now  and  again  ?  Young 
Miller,  I  am  sorry  she  did  not  expect  to  see  you  too." 

The  young  man  pulled  out  the  aluminium  pencil-case  proudly. 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  he,  "  and  that  belonged  to  herself.'''' 

"  Now,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  kindly  smile,  "  what 
about  her  being  hardened  by  all  the  railway -people  ?" 

"And  oh,  how  pretty  she  is!  and  she  is  more  beautiful  than 
ever  !"  cried  Amy,  rather  incoherently. 

Young  Miller  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.  "I  suppose," 
said  he,  rather  gloomily,  "  if  she  stays  with  her  father  now,  she 
will  be  going  about  a  great  deal,  and  seeing  lots  of  people.  If 
she  drives  in  the  Park,  every  one  will  get  to  know  who  she  is. 
How  easy  it  is  for  girls  to  have  their  heads  turned  by  the  atten- 
tion they  get !" 

"  It  will  take  a  great  deal  to  turn  Violet's  head,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  gently.     "  There  is  plenty  of  shrewdness  in  it." 

When  Mr.  Miller  set  out  to  walk  over  to  Sydenham  Hill  that 
evening,  the  notions  that  went  whirling  through  his  brain  were 
alternately  disquieting  and  pleasing.  Had  he  not  this  treasure  of 
a  pencil  transferred  from  her  pocket  to  his?  She  had  breathed 
upon  it  many  a  time ;  she  had  held  it  in  her  white,  small  fingers ; 
perchance  she  may  in  an  absent  moment  have  put  it  up  to  her 
lips.  It  was  a  fair,  still,  moonlight  night ;  he  took  out  the  bit  of 
aluminium  as  if  it  had  been  a  talisman,  and  kissed  it  a  hundred 
times.  Then  had  she  not  admitted  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him 
on  this  approaching  evening?  And  already  another  day  was 
about  to  begin,  to  lessen  the  long  procession  of  dates.  It  was 
true  that  she  was  very  beautiful  and  very  proud ;  she  would  have 
lots  of  admirers.  Lady  North  was  fond  of  society  ;  Violet  would 
meet  all  manner  of  strangers;  they  would  know  that  her  father 
was  a  rich  man ;  and  they  would  be  eager  to  win  the  affections 
of  a  girl  who  had  beauty,  money,  every  thing  to  bestow.  The 
wonderful  moonlit  landscape  was  not  so  lovely  now,  since  she  had 
driven  away.  The  orange  points  of  fire  on  the  heights  were  al- 
most extinguished.  The  world  generally  had  grown  less  fairy- 
likc->  but  still  he  was  to  meet  her  in  less  than  a  fortnight's  time. 


114  MADCAP  VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 

On  the  very  next  afternoon,  Lady  North  and  Violet  paid  the 
promised  visit  to  Mrs.  Warrener.  Unluckily,  James  Drummond 
was  not  in  the  house ;  but  his  sister  had  enough  of  his  shrewd- 
ness of  perception  to  see  how  little  likely  it  was  that  this  step- 
mother and  step  -  daughter  should  ever  agree — the  one  a  prim, 
dignified,  matter-of-fact  little  woman,  who  had  a  curious  watch- 
ful and  observant  look  in  her  cold  gray  eyes,  and  a  certain  affect- 
ed stateliness  of  manner  ;  the  other,  a  proud,  impetuous  girl,  who 
had  the  bitterest  scorn  of  all  pretense,  and  an  amazing  frankness 
in  showing  it. 

Lady  North,  so  far  as  her  formal  manner  would  allow,  was 
profuse  in  her  apologies  to  Mrs.  Warrener  for  the  short  notice  she 
had  given  her ;  and  now  it  appeared  that  what  Violet  had  mod- 
estly called  an  "  at  home  "  was  in  reality  a  fancy-dress  ball.  Mr. 
Miller  had  also  been  modest  in  the  matter ;  and  had  not  told  his 
friends  of  his  having  received  an  invitation. 

"  It  is  so  short  a  time,"  said  Violet,  "  but  I  am  sure  you  will 
come,  Mrs.  Warrener — and  Amy  too — " 

"  Not  Amy,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  gentle  little  house  -  mother, 
with  a  smile.  "  My  only  doubt,  Lady  North,  is  about  my  broth- 
er. I  am  afraid  a  fancy-dress  ball  would  not  quite  fall  in  with 
his  habits." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  Violet,  with  the  air  of  a  wom- 
an of  the  world,  "  it  does  not  accord  with  any  body's  habits ;  but 
it  is  merely  a  harmless  piece  of  fun,  that  even  very  wise  people 
like.  You  have  no  idea  how  pleased  he  will  be  by  the  show  of 
beautiful  costumes.  And  I  know  he  will  come  if  you  say  that  I 
particularly  asked  him.  We  shall  have  quite  a  party  by  our- 
selves, you  know — Mr.  Miller  is  coming." 

"And  what  will  be  his  dress?"  asked  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Violet ;  and  then  she  added,  with  a  sort 
of  mischievous  smile,  "  Tell  him  to  come  as  Romeo.     Would  he 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  115 

not  look  well  as  Romeo  ?  Now  do,  Mrs.  Warrcner,  tell  him  that 
I  wish  him  to  come  as  Romeo." 

"  Very  well,  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  smile ;  but 
she  shook  her  head  all  the  time — the  school-girl  had  not  wholly 
left  this  young  lady. 

Now,  strange  to  say,  Mr.  Drummond  accepted  the  invitation 
with  eagerness  and  delight — it  happened  to  strike  some  fancy. 
In  a  second  he  was  full  of  schemes  of  costume.  He  would  go  as 
this,  he  would  go  as  that ;  his  sister  must  be  Pharaoh's  Daughter, 
must  be  Consuelo,  must  be  Lady  Jane  Gray.  In  imagination  he 
tumbled  all  the  centuries  together;  and  played  hop,  skip,  and 
jump  through  history.  In  the  end  he  was  forced  to  confess  that 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

There  came  to  his  aid  a  practical  young  man. 

"The  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  said  George  Miller,  with  a 
superior  air.  "  You  come  with  me  to  a  man  in  Bow  Street :  he 
will  show  you  colored  plates;  you  can  have  a  dress  made  for 
you ;  or  you  can  see  what  he  has.  I  will  go  with  you :  he  will 
charge  you  ever  so  much  too  much  if  you  let  him." 

"And  you — have  you  got  your  dress?"  asked  Drummond,  with 
a  modest  air,  of  this  experienced  person. 

"  It  is  being  made,"  said  he,  carelessly.  "  I  am  going  as 
Charles  I." 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you  as  regards  that,"  said  Mrs.  Warren- 
er, looking  at  him  in  her  quiet  and  humorous  way.  "  Violet  was 
over  here  yesterday.  She  bid  me  tell  you  you  must  go  to  the 
ball  as  Romeo." 

All  the  carelessness  went  out  of  the  young  man's  manner  in  a 
second. 

"  No  !"  said  he.     "  Did  she,  really  ?     It  is  not  a  joke  ?" 

"  I  have  delivered  the  message  as  I  got  it." 

"By  Jove!  Then  I  must  telegraph  to  them  to  stop  the 
Charles  I.  dress — oh,  I  don't  care  whether  I  have  to  pay  for  it  or 
not! — in  any  case,  I  will  go  as  Romeo."  And  then  he  added, 
quickly,  with  a  flush  in  his  face,  "  Don't  you  think  the  joke  a 
good  one  ?  She  was  making  fun,  of  course ;  but  what  a  joke  it 
will  be  to  surprise  her?" 

Forthwith  it  was  arranged  that  these  three  should  make  up  a 
little  party  to  go  to  Bow  Street ;  and  on  their  way  thither  it  al- 
most seemed  as  if  Mr.  Drummond  had  gone  out  of  his  senses. 


J^gUJ  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

Young  Miller  did  not  understand  this  kind  of  thing.  Imaginary 
conversations  between  discarded  costumes  about  the  character  of 
their  successive  wearers  ?  Ghosts  getting  into  a  costumier's  repos- 
itory, and  having  a  fancy-dress  ball  by  phosphorescent  light !  He 
treated  such  nonsense  with  impatience ;  he  would  rather  have  un- 
derstood clearly  what  dress  Mr.  Drummond  proposed  to  wear. 

Then,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  grave  and  puzzled  costumier, 
also !  Young  Miller,  as  a  shrewd  and  practical  person,  perceived 
that  this  was  a  matter  of  business,  and  not  a  subject  for  all  man- 
ner of  whimsical  absurdities.  "Where  was  the  fun  of  bewildering 
a  costumier,  when  that  worthy  person  was  patiently  turning  over 
the  colored  plates  ? 

"  Mercutio,"  said  Drummond.  "  Is  that  Mercutio  ?  How  plump 
and  well-favored  he  is !  I  always  loved  Mercutio — but  I  did  not 
know  he  was  so  good-looking.  They  say  Shakspeare  killed  him 
because  he  could  not  keep  up  the  supply  of  jokes  that  Mercutio 
needed.  They  might  as  well  say  that  God  took  and  plunged  the 
rivers  into  the  sea  lest  there  shouldn't  be  enough  water  left  on 
land  for  a  long  river-course.  That's  why  the  rivers  always  take 
the  nearest  way ;  and  that's  why  poor  old  Mercutio  was  killed." 

Now  what  was  the  good  of  talking  like  that  to  this  puzzled 
tradesman  and  artist?  Young  Miller  had  continually  to  keep 
saying, 

"And  how  much  would  that  be — in  blue  satin  and  velvet,  for 
example  ?" 

It  was  indeed  very  lucky  for  these  two  that  Mr.  Miller  had  gone 
with  them ;  for,  in  the  end,  when  they  had  finally  made  their 
choice,  he  suggested  an  arrangement  which  lessened  the  proposed 
cost  by  more  than  one-half.  The  costumes  were  to  be  made  ac- 
cording to  sketches  which  Mr.  Drummond  was  to  supply ;  but 
they  were  to  remain  the  property  of  the  costumier;  and  only 
their  temporary  use  to  be  charged  for.  Not  only  Mr.  Drummond, 
but  also  his  sister,  who  had  more  to  do  with  accounts,  was  quite 
impressed  by  the  business-like  way  in  which  Mr.  Miller  drew  up 
and  ratified  this  contract. 

One  evening  that  little  garden  in  Camberwell  saw  a  strange 
sight.  It  was  nearly  dusk;  under  the  cherry  and  apple  trees 
there  was  almost  darkness.  And  what  was  this  tall  and  silent 
figure,  clad  from  head  to  heel  in  a  cloak  of  sombre  red,  with  a 
sword  thrusting  out  the  cloak  behind,  with  a  peaked  black  cap 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  117 

coming  down  on  the  forehead,  and  that  surmounted  by  a  tall  red 
feather  that  here  and  there  brushed  the  leaves  of  the  trees  ?  What 
manner  of  man  was  this,  with  ruddy  shadows  under  the  strangely 
vivid  eyes,  with  cadaverous  cheeks,  with  pointed  beard  and  curled 
mustache,  and  with  a  fiendish  grin  on  his  lips  ?  Then  a  younger 
man  stepped  down  from  the  balcony ;  and,  behold,  the  youth  was 
bravely  clad  in  blue  and  silver,  with  a  cape  of  velvet  hanging  from 
his  shoulders ;  and  there  was  a  soft  yellow  down  on  his  upper  lip ; 
and  a  look  of  gay  laughter  about  his  handsome  face.  He,  in  turn, 
was  followed  by  a  beautiful  and  gentle  creature,  who  wore  her 
yellow  hair  in  two  long  plaits  behind,  and  who  appeared  in  a  sim- 
ple dress  of  white,  with  its  tight  sleeves  and  its  sachel  touched 
here  and  there  with  blue.  Strangely  enough,  as  the  three  figures 
walked  here  and  there  through  the  twilight  of  the  garden,  Meph- 
istopheles,  Romeo,  and  Margaret  spoke  the  same  language,  and 
laughed  with  the  same  light  laughter.  It  wTas  their  dress  rehearsal : 
the  solitary  spectator  being  a  young  lady  in  the  balcony,  who  said 
they  looked  like  ghosts,  and  hoped  she  should  not  dream  of  them 
that  night. 

The  important  evening  at  length  arrived ;  and  Mr.  Miller  had 
arranged  to  dress  at  James  Drummond's  house,  for  he  Avas  quite 
sure  that,  without  his  supervision,  Mephistopheles  would  be  found 
lacking  in  fiendish  eyebrows  and  mustache.  James  Drummond 
was  not  accustomed  to  these  things ;  he  was  a  mere  child  in  the 
hands  of  young  Miller,  who  dealt  with  this  matter  in  a  serious 
and  didactic  fashion. 

The  big  house  in  Euston  Square  was  all  lighted  up ;  Chinese 
lanterns  were  hung  along  the  covered  way  leading  down  to  the 
gate ;  and  on  the  pavement  a  large  number  of  people  had  assem- 
bled to  watch  the  arrivals  descend  from  the  carriages  and  walk 
up  that  lane  of  dimly  colored  light.  There  was  a  murmur  of  sur- 
prise when  a  tall,  gaunt  figure  in  sombre  red  stalked  by,  with  a 
whisper  of  "  The  Devil !"  Romeo  was  a  little  bewildered ;  he  was 
wondering  how  Violet  would  be  dressed ;  whether  she  would  be 
kind  or  proud  ;  whether  she  would  dance  with  many  people.  He 
resolved  that  he  would  not  stay  in  the  room  if  she  danced  with 
any  one  other  than  himself ;  and  he  already  hated  that  unknown 
stranger. 

More  brilliant  lights;  a  sound  of  distant  music;  some  servants, 
with  staring  eyes  and  anxious  manner. 


118  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

Mr.  Drummond  taps  young  Romeo  on  the  shoulder.  "You 
are  in  the  way." 

He  stands  aside,  and  two  strange  creatures  go  by. 

"Thank  you,"  says  one  of  them,  courteously.  "You  have  al- 
lowed two  centuries  to  pass." 

As  yet  they  are  but  encountering  the  outward  ripples  of  the 
great  whirlpool  within.  Cleopatra,  proud  and  dusky,  with  golden 
ornaments  pendant  over  her  forehead,  comes  out  into  the  cooler 
air  of  the  hall ;  she  is  attended  by  an  executioner,  draped  in  black, 
and  masked.  Whose  are  these  enormous  scarlet  feathers  sweep- 
ing back  from  the  cowl  ?  Surely  they  and  the  long  slashed  cloak 
belong  to  a  high  baron  of  Germany !  There,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  is  chatting  pleasantly  with  a  tall 
youth  dressed  as  chef  de  cuisine  ;  beside  them  stands  the  redoubt- 
able Jean  Sansterre,  the  lights  gleaming  on  his  suit  of  chain-mail, 
his  huge  shield  and  battle-axe.  Harlequin  whips  by  ;  the  solemn 
Master  of  Ravenswood  appears  with  Ophelia  on  his  arm  ;  the 
mighty-hearted  Barbarossa  and  the  Fille  du  Regiment,  laughing 
and  talking  together,  are  making  for  the  ball-room. 

"  '  Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  ?'  " 

At  the  sound  of  that  well-knoAvn  voice  our  three  strangers 
turned  instantaneously.  What  wonderful  vision  was  this? — not 
the  Violet  North  they  knew,  but  Juliet  herself  descended  in  all  her 
beauty  from  the  moonlit  balcony — her  face  a  trifle  pale,  perhaps, 
but  that  may  have  been  the  reflected  light  of  her  robes  of  white 
satin — her  magnificent  black  hair  looking  blacker  because  of  this 
gleaming  dress — her  dark  eyes  full  of  fire,  and  light,  and  glad- 
ness— the  proud,  sweet  mouth  partly  opened  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment,  and  just  showing  a  glimmer  of  milk-white  teeth. 
Young  Romeo  was  altogether  overwhelmed,  blinded,  bewildered. 
What  great  condescension  was  this — or  was  she  but  toying  with 
him :  she,  the  full-grown  woman  still  fancying  that  he  Avas  but 
a  youth  ?  There  was  more  of  the  girl  than  of  the  woman,  how- 
ever, in  the  delight  of  her  face,  in  the  eager  fashion  in  which  she 
insisted  on  showing  them  where  Lady  North  was  posted. 

"  Oh,  Violet,  how  lovely  you  look  in  that  dress  !"  Mrs.  Warren- 
er  could  not  help  saying,  in  an  under-tone. 

"Can  we  get  up  the  stairs?"  the  girl  said.  "  Lady  North  is  on 
the  landing.     Mr.  Drummond,  shall  we  lead  the  way  ?" 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  119 

Surely  Romeo  and  Juliet  should  have  gone  together.  Romeo 
was  rather  silent  when  he  saw  that  beautiful  creature  in  the  white 
satin  and  pearls  pass  on  with  the  tall  figure  in  sombre  red. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  crush  on  the  stairs  kept  them  jammed 
in  and  motionless  at  one  point  of  the  ascent.  Violet  turned 
round ;  Romeo  was  just  beneath ;  and  she  said  to  him,  with  a 
tender  sweetness, 

" '  How  cam'st  thou  hither,  tell  me !  and  wherefore  ? 
The  orchard  walls  are  high,  and  hard  to  climb ; 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here.'  " 

He  could  not  answer — his  face  flushed  red  with  embarrassment ; 
but  fortunately  another  upward  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
crowd  carried  them  on  again  and  hid  his  vexation. 

"  She  has  studied  her  part  better  than  you  have,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  How  could  I  know  ?"  said  lie,  almost  angrily.  "  I  did  not 
know  she  would  be  Juliet.  I  suppose  these  are  the  speeches 
Juliet  makes.     And  one  looks  such  a  fool." 

"  But  surely  you  know  the  pretty  things  that  Romeo  says  to 
her?"  said  his  companion. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "  Poetry  was  never  much  in 
my  way.  But — but  if  you  know,  Mrs.  Warrener — couldn't  you 
give  me  a  hint  or  two — " 

"  I  think  my  brother  has  taken  up  your  part,"  said  she ;  and 
then,  indeed,  they  heard  that  Mephistopheles  and  Juliet  were  ad- 
dressing each  other  in  very  beautiful  language.  George  Miller 
leaped  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  exaggerated 
and  tawdry  sentiment  about  Shakspeare ;  and  that,  in  any  case, 
theatrical  stuff  should  be  kept  for  theatres. 

On  the  landing,  and  in  a  recess  so  that  her  guests  could  pass 
by  her  into  the  ball-room,  they  found  Lady  North,  who  was  very 
dignified  and  very  courteous.  Her  eldest  daughter,  Anatolia, 
stood  by  her.  What  made  young  Mr.  Miller  ask  this  rather 
plain  young  lady,  so  that  his  companions  could  distinctly  over- 
hear, for  the  next  waltz  she  had  free  ?  He  had  not  asked  Violet 
to  dance. 

They  looked  in  on  the  wonderful  assemblage  of  picturesque 
figures — certain  groups  of  them  here  and  there  in  motion — the 
sound  of  music  all  through  the  place  —  the  brilliant  colors  and 


120  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

diverse  forms  almost  bewildering  the  eye.  The  fair  Juliet,  her 
hand  still  on  the  arm  of  the  tall  and  sombre  Mephistopheles, 
showed  him  a  certain  little  pink  card. 

"  I  have  not  given  away  one  dance  yet,"  said  she. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  ask  you  to  dance?"  he  replied. 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  Romeo  who  ought  to  dance  with  Juliet." 

"  I  wish  to  dance  with  you — or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  I  want 
you  to  engage  me  for  one  or  two,  that  we  may  keep  together,  and 
see  the  people." 

"  Give  me  your  programme,  Violet." 

He  took  it  and  managed,  with  some  difficulty,  to  put  certain 
hieroglyphs  on  it. 

"  Why,  you  have  put  J.  D.  at  every  one  I"  cried  Juliet. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  that  is  what  I  should  prefer.  But  I  am  not 
greedy.  Whenever  you  wish  to  cheer  up  the  drooping  spirits  of 
your  Romeo,  I  will  set  you  free.  What  have  you  said  to  him, 
Violet?" 

She  turned  round  and  regarded  the  young  man  with  some 
wonder.     He  was  certainly  not  looking  well  pleased. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  I  will  take  you  all  round  by  another  way 
to  the  balcony,  and  you  will  see  every  thing  from  there.  That 
will  be  better  than  fighting  across  the  room.  But  perhaps  you 
wish  to  dance,  Mr.  Miller  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  gruffly. 

She  would  take  no  notice  of  his  manner.     She  said,  gently, 

"  If  you  will  follow  us,  then,  we  can  go  round  to  the  balcony, 
and  have  a  nice  cool  place  almost  to  ourselves.  Shall  we  go,  Mr. 
Drummond  ?" 

"  I  am  no  pilot,"  said  he,  in  a  tragic  voice. 

" '  Yet  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  wash'd  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandise !' " 

"  '  'Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  mine  enemy !' "  she  retorted,  with 
a  light  laugh,  as  she  again  took  his  arm  and  led  him  away. 

" '  Thou  art  thyself,  though  Mephistopheles. 

What's  Mephistopheles  ?     It  is  nor  hand,  nor  foot, 

Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 

Belonging  to  a  man.     Oh,  be  some  other  name !' " 


WALPUKGIS-NIGHT.  121 

"  We  appear  to  have  got  behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre,"  said 
young  Mr.  Miller,  with  savage  contempt,  to  his  companion. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  very  amusing,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  in 
her  quiet  way,  "  to  see  the  girl  play  Juliet  so  well  ?  How  de- 
lightfully gracious  her  manner  is!" 

"  I  think  when  you  are  on  the  stage,  you  ought  to  be  on  the 
stage,"  said  he,  bluntly ;  "  and  when  you're  in  a  private  house, 
you  ought  to  be  in  a  private  house.  I  don't  see  the  fun  of  all 
that  tomfoolery." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  fancy  costumes  ?"  Mrs.  Warrener  asked, 
with  gentle  sarcasm. 

"  Oh  dear,  no — I  mean  that  poetry  and  nonsense." 

Certainly  the  small  room  through  which  they  were  now  passing 
was,  in  one  respect,  like  the  gloomy  corridors  "  behind  the  scenes." 
It  was  dark  enough,  but  they  could,  at  all  events,  see  that  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  a  table  was  placed  which  had  a  white  cloth 
on  it. 

"Isn't  Lady  North  kind?"  said  Violet.  "She  has  given  me 
this  room  for  us  four,  so  that  as  soon  as  the  others  go  down  to 
supper  we  can  have  ours  in  here,  in  quiet  and  coolness." 

"  '  By  whose  direction  found' st  thou  out  this  place  V  "  asked 
her  companion. 

"  Please,  Mephistopheles-Romeo,  to  keep  to  your  own  speeches," 
she  observed,  with  some  dignity.     "  That  one  belongs  to  me." 

From  this  small  room  they  went  out  on  the  balcony,  which  was 
hung  round  with  pink  and  white,  and  lighted  up  with  Chinese  lan- 
terns ;  and,  passing  along,  they  came  once  more  in  sight  of  the 
brilliant  ball-room,  at  the  open  windows  of  which  they  now  stood. 
Two  or  three  others  had  discovered  this  quiet  retreat — opportune 
for  conversation  as  well  as  agreeable  on  account  of  its  coolness ; 
but  somehow  these  dusky  figures  loved  the  darkness  rather  than 
the  light,  and  Violet's  party,  assembled  in  front  of  one  of  the 
windows,  was  left  pretty  much  to  itself. 

She  set  to  work  to  exorcise  the  demon — was  it  of  some  ridicu- 
lous jealousy  ? — that  had  got  possession  of  this  young  man.  She 
had  not  much  trouble.  Who  could  have  withstood  the  bright,  frank 
smile,  and  the  friendly  look  of  her  beautiful  dark  eyes  ?  Besides, 
was  he  not  in  Juliet's  own  balcony — not  looking  up  to  her,  but 
actually  with  her — while  there  was  no  petulant  nurse  to  call  her  ? 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  dance  at  all  to-night  ?"  said  she. 

6 


122  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  No." 

"  Not  even  with  me  ?" 

"  Your  card  is  full,"  said  lie,  shortly. 

"  That  is  but  a  joke,"  she  said.  "  I  asked  Mr.  Drummond  to 
make  sure  I  should  have  plenty  of  time  to  spend  with  my  espe- 
cial friends,  and  he  took  the  whole  night ;  and  I  am  not  sorry. 
I  fancy,  Mr.  Drummond,  you  think  that  dancing  would  not  ac- 
cord with  the  dignity  of  Mephistopheles,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Nor  yet  with  his  age,"  said  he.  "  Dancing  is  for  young  Ro- 
meos.     Young  Romeo,  why  are  you  lounging  idly  here  ?" 

The  younger  man  was  looking  rather  wistfully  at  Violet.  He 
was  beginning  to  be  sorry  for  his  sulkiness.  Would  she  forgive 
him  ?     Was  her  kindness  real  ?     Or  was  she  only  making  fun  ? 

"  Will  you  dance  this  Avaltz  with  me  ?"  said  he,  in  desperation  ; 
and  she  assented  at  once. 

They  passed  into  the  ball-room. 

"  I  thought  you  were  to  dance  with  Anatolia  ?"  she  said,  with 
a  smile.  • 

"  She  had  to  stay  by  Lady  North,"  he  answered.  "  I — I  am 
very  glad." 

"You  ought  not  to  say  such  things:  she  is  my  sister.  And 
why  did  you  ask  her  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he ;  and  presently  they  were  lost  in  the 
whirling  crowd. 

James  Drummond  and  his  sister  had  watched  them  enter  the 
room.  They  were  a  sufficiently  handsome  couple,  these  two 
young  people,  as  they  stood  there  for  a  moment  together — the 
slim,  square-shouldered  young  fellow  in  blue  velvet  and  silver,  with 
his  fine  features  all  lighted  up  now  by  a  new  gratitude  and  pleas- 
ure, and  the  tall,  shapely,  proud-featured  girl,  whose  hair  seemed 
blacker  than  the  raven's  wing  in  contrast  with  the  gleaming  white 
of  her  dress.  After  that  they  were  visible  but  from  time  to  time 
in  the  whirl  of  wonderful  shapes  and  colors  that  moved  to  the 
light,  rapid,  and  harmonious  music. 

"That  is  the  beautiful  time  of  life,"  Drummond  said  to  his  sis- 
ter, as  they  watched  these  two  go  by.  "  Youth,  health,  bright 
spirits,  the  joy  of  living  life  instead  of  merely  looking  at  it — and 
yet  there  is  some  sadness  about  the  spectacle.  Not  to  them,  of 
course  ;  only  to  the  looker-on.  They  are  not  thinking  of  to-mor- 
row, nor  yet  of  middle  age,  nor  of  any  doubt  or  disquiet.     Look 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  123 

at  them — don't  you  wish  you  could  make  this  moment  eternity  for 
them,  and  prolong  that  delight  of  rapid  motion  for  ever  and  ever?'' 

"  I  do  not,"  his  sister  said,  promptly.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean,  James ;  but  you  are  always  coupling  these  two  togeth- 
er, as  if  they  must  necessarily  marry." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  he,  rather  absently. 

"You  know  very  well:  the  notion  of  a  proud,  high-spirited 
girl  like  Violet  marrying  a  young  man  like  that — who  has  got  no 
more  imagination,  or  feeling,  or  mind  than  a  block  of  wood !" 

"  You  are  never  fair  to  young  Miller,  Sarah.  He  is  quite  as  in- 
telligent as  most  young  men ;  and  he  is  far  more  willing  to  im- 
prove himself  than  any  I  know." 

"  He  sha'n't  marry  Violet." 

"  You  used  to  like  him  well  enough." 

"  Yes ;  because  I  never  dreamed  that  any  thing  serious  would 
come  of  that  foolish  adventure  of  theirs.  But  now  I  am  sure  he 
means  to  marry  her  if  she  will  let  him ;  and  I  think  she  has  a 
sort  of  tender,  half-romantic  interest  in  him  at  which  she  laughs, 
but  which  is  likely  to  make  mischief." 

"  That  is  how  you  describe  marriage  ?"  said  he. 

But  at  this  moment  the  two  young  people  came  back — flushed, 
eager,  gay  in  spirits ;  Romeo  in  especial  being  delighted,  and 
showing  his  delight  by  being  anxious  to  share  it.  Mrs.  Warrener 
must  really  go  in  and  dance.  The  flashing -by  of  the  different 
characters  was  wonderful.  Had  she  seen  Henry  VIII.  go  down  ? 
What  was  this  perfume  they  were  burning  ? 

Then  he  was  anxious  that  Violet  should  give  him  the  next 
dance,  and  the  next  dance,  and  the  next  again.  But  she  refused. 
She  was  not  going  to  desert  her  friends.  When  this  present 
dance  was  over,  she  invited  Mephistopheles  to  walk  with  her 
through  the  room  that  they  might  look  at  the  crowd  together ; 
and  Romeo  and  Margaret  followed,  the  former  quite  glad  and  con- 
tented now.  It  is  true  that  he  had  more  rivals  than  ever.  Vio- 
let North  was  known  to  but  few  of  her  step-mother's  guests ;  but 
the  appearance  of  the  girl  was  too  striking  to  escape  unnoticed ; 
and  there  were  all  sorts  of  applications  to  Lady  North  for  an  in- 
troduction to  the  beautiful  young  lady  dressed  as  Juliet.  That 
young  lady  was  exceedingly  courteous  to  these  successive  stran- 
gers ;  but  how  could  she  promise  them  a  dance,  seeing  that  her 
card  was  full  to  the  very  last  line? 


124  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

So  the  night  went  by,  in  music,  laughter,  and  gladness ;  and 
they  had  supper  all  by  themselves  in  that  little  room,  the  fair 
Juliet  being  queen  of  the  feast;  and  Lady  North  sat  with  them 
for  a  time,  and  said  some  pretty  things  about  Margaret's  dress; 
and  Violet's  father  looked  in  on  them,  and  said  to  young  Miller, 
"  "Well,  sir,  been  running  away  with  any  more  school-girls  lately  ?" 
As  for  the  young  lady  herself,  the  light  on  her  face  was  some- 
thing to  look  at ;  it  seemed  to  one  sitting  there  that  youth  had 
nothing  more  beautiful  to  give  than  such  a  night. 

"  "What  do  you  think  of  it  all  ?"  she  said  to  Mr.  Drummond, 
when  they  went  back  into  the  ball-room,  to  look  on  at  a  slow 
and  stately  minuet  that  was  being  danced  by  a  few  experts. 
"  Don't  you  think  it  is  lovely  ?" 

"  I  am  trying  to  think  what  you  think  of  it,"  said  he.  "  To 
me  the  chief  delight  of  it  is  the  delight  I  see  in  your  face.  I 
have  never  seen  a  girl  at  her  first  ball  before ;  it  is  a  good  thing 
to  see." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  sadly  ?" 

"Do  I?" 

"  Yes.  And  when  I  am  not  by,  I  see  you  looking  at  the  whole 
affair  as  if  it  were  fifty  miles  away.  I  wish  you  would  dance 
with  me,  instead  of  merely  standing  and  looking  on  like  that." 

"  It  is  for  young  Romeos  to  dance :"  that  was  all  he  would  say 
— and  he  said  it  very  kindly  to  her ;  and  indeed  at  this  moment 
young  Romeo  did  come  up  and  claim  the  next  dance,  so  that  she 
went  away  with  him. 

A  little  time  after,  when  the  loud  music  ceased,  and  there  was 
nothing  heard  but  a  newly  awakened  hum  of  conversation  and 
the  shuffling  of  feet,  young  Romeo  said  to  his  partner, 

"Shall  wre  go  through  that  little  supper -room,  and  surprise 
them  in  the  balcony  ?" 

"  If  you  like,"  she  said :  she  was  ready  for  any  thing. 

They  got  out  and  round  to  that  small  room  ;  the  candles  were 
still  burning  brightly  on  the  table.  She  was  leading  the  way,  for 
there  was  room  but  for  one  to  pass,  when  he  put  his  hand  on  her 
hand  to  detain  her.     She  looked  round  in  some  surprise. 

"Just  a  second,"  said  he,  and  she  could  not  understand  why 
his  eyes  should  look  so  anxious.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Vio- 
let— I  have  something  to  say  to  you — " 

Then  she  understood  him  in  a  moment ;  and  she  drew  back 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  125 

afraid.  Her  first  impulse  was  the  school-girl  one,  to  beat  a  sud- 
den retreat  into  the  balcony :  her  second  the  woman's  one,  to  im- 
plore him  to  spare  them  both  the  unnecessary  pain  of  a  request 
and  refusal.     But  she  had  miscalculated  his  intentions. 

"  Only  this,"  said  he,  in  nervous  haste,  "  will  you  promise  me 
not  to  marry  any  body  for  two  years  to  come?" 

It  was  a  strange  request ;  a  declaration  of  jealousy  rather  than 
of  love.  The  girl  was  rather  pale,  and  she  was  certainly  fright- 
ened :  had  she  had  more  self-possession,  she  would  have  laughed. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not 
likely  to  marry  any  one — I  don't  think  of  marrying  any  one — " 

"All  I  want  is  a  chance,"  he  said;  and  he  put  both  his  hands 
over  that  one  that  he  still  held,  while  he  looked  in  her  face. 
"  You  will  let  me  hope  that  some  day  I  may  persuade  you  to  be 
my  wife — " 

"  I  can  not  promise  —  I  can  not  promise,"  she  said,  almost 
wildly. 

"  I  don't  ask  you,"  he  said.     "  Violet,  now  don't  be  hard." 

She  looked  at  him — at  the  entreaty  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  That  you  will  give  me  leave  to  hope  that  some  day  you  will 
marry  me." 

"  It  is  only  a  '  perhaps  ?'  "  she  said,  with  her  eyes  turned  to  the 
floor. 

"  It  is  only  a  '  perhaps ' — that  is  all,"  he  said,  eagerly. 

"  Very  well,  then." 

In  his  transport  he  would  fain  have  kissed  her,  but  he  was 
afraid ;  he  kissed  her  hand  passionately,  and  said  she  was  an  an- 
gel of  kindness. 

"And  then,"  said  he,  "Violet,  you  know  I  must  ask  your  fa- 
ther's permission — " 

"  Oh  no,  no !"  she  cried  instinctively,  feeling  that  that  would 
pledge  her  more  and  more. 

"  But  only  as  between  him  and  me,"  the  young  man  said,  with 
the  same  impetuous  haste.  "You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
You  are  not  bound  by  that.  But  of  course  he  sees  already  why 
I  have  become  so  intimate  with  the  rest  of  the  family ;  and 
this  would  only  be  putting  every  thing  straight  and  above- 
board—" 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  she,  rather  quickly.     "  There  must  be  no 


12G  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

stupid  secret  this  time.  And  you  will  tell  my  father  that  I  have 
not  promised  to  marry  you — that  it  is  only — " 

"  I  will  tell  him  every  thing.     Violet,  how  kind  you  are  !" 

"Come  away,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  and  her  face  was  pale. 
"  You  must  dance  with  Mrs.  Warrcner." 

What  had  suddenly  raised  the  spirits  of  this  young  man  to  the 
verge  of  madness?  He  seemed  drunk  with  delight;  his  face  afire 
with  pleasure ;  his  laughter  extravagant ;  his  speech  rapid  and 
excited.  Violet,  on  the  other  hand,  was  pale,  concerned,  and  si- 
lent. When  George  Miller  took  Mrs.  Warrener  away  into  the 
room,  Violet,  left  alone  with  Mr.  Drummond,  said  little,  but  that 
little  was  said  with  an  unusual  earnestness  of  kindness.  He 
would  have  been  surprised  by  it,  but  that  he  knew  how  anxiously 
kind  she  always  was  to  her  old  friends. 

He  drew  her  attention  to  a  strange  blue  light  that  began  to  be 
visible  even  through  the  ruddy  awning  of  the  balcony.  It  was 
time  they  were  getting  home. 

"And  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  been  amused.  I  should 
have  been  miserable  if  you  had  taken  all  this  trouble  and  been 
disappointed." 

"Do  not  fear  that,"  said  he,  with  a  smile.  "To  look  at  you 
enjoying  yourself  would  have  been  enough  pleasure  for  any  one." 

It  was,  indeed,  the  cold  gray  of  the  morning  when  these  strange 
figures  issued  out  of  the  ruddy  hall  and  made  their  way  home  in 
the  new  and  pale  light.  Of  what  were  they  all  thinking,  now 
that  another  day  had  come,  and  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  that 
Walpurgis-night  over  and  gone  forever? 

One  young  man,  in  a  four-wheeled  cab,  making  for  Piccadilly, 
was  communing  with  himself  thus  : 

"  How  handsome  she  will  look  at  a  dinner-table  !  In  her  case, 
anyway,  a  man  might  fairly  be  proud  of  taking  his  own  wife  out 
for  a  drive.  I  wonder  what  my  father  will  do  for  me — surely 
something  handsome ;  and  then,  if  her  father  gives  her  any  thing 
at  all  decent,  we  shall  get  on  very  well.  By  Jove,  what  a  pre- 
cious lucky  fellow  I  am !  And  she  sha'n't  have  to  fear  any  neg- 
lect or  unkindness  from  me :  I  see  too  much  of  that  going  on." 

In  another  vehicle,  going  in  another  direction,  a  tall,  thin,  mid- 
dle-aged man,  looking  rather  sad,  worn,  and  tired,  was  talking  to 
his  sister.     But  surely  not  of  the  fancy-dress  ball  ? 

"  I  suppose,"  he  was  saying,  in  his  absent  and  dreamy  way, 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  127 

"  that  Roland,  the  brave  knight  Roland,  never  existed.  I  don't 
much  care  about  that ;  for  the  man  Avho  imagined  such  a  perfect 
type  of  manhood — who,  among  all  the  trivialities  and  common- 
place of  the  life  around  him  —  the  breakfasts,  dinners,  and  sup- 
pers, the  rising  in  the  morning  to  wash  your  face — the  wretched 
details  of  one  hour  after  another  —  well,  I  think  the  man  who 
managed  in  the  midst  of  all  that  to  imagine  such  a  splendid  fig- 
ure as  Roland  was  far  greater  than  the  Roland  he  created.  Don't 
you  think  so,  Sarah?  I  don't  care  whether  King  Arthur  ever 
lived ;  because  a  greater  than  Arthur  lives  now,  and  tells  us  about 
him.  And  yet  I  think  that  Tristram  is  the  bravest  knight,  and 
has  the  most  picturesque  story,  in  the  '  Morte  d' Arthur.'  " 

And  again — but  surely  this  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  fancy- 
dress  ball  ? — 

"  I  wonder  if  the  wise  men  of  Egypt  wished  to  teach  the  peo- 
ple a  lesson  in  humility  when  they  made  the  beetle  an  object  of 
worship  ?  Or  was  it  a  challenge  to  faith  ?  Fancy  what  an  im- 
posture the  owl  was  as  a  symbol  of  Minerva — the  biggest  fool  of 
a  bird  you  can  find.  I  suppose  owls  don't  eat  grapes ;  but  no 
bird  but  a  half-blind  owl  could  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to  peck 
at  Zeuxis's  painted  grapes." 

And  again — but  what  on  earth  had  this  to  do  with  the  fancy- 
dress  ball  ? — 

"  What  a  fine  thing  it  must  have  been  to  carry  about  with  you 
a  sword — the  sort  of  consciousness,  I  mean,  of  having  the  power 
of  life  or  death  with  you.  If  you  were  weak,  the  sword  became 
part  of  yourself,  and  gave  you  strength.  Now  they  go  to  war 
with  engines  and  machines  !  and  I  suppose  you  seldom  know  you 
have  killed  a  man.  But  don't  you  think  that  a  great  war  must 
leave  behind  it,  in  thousands  of  human  bosoms,  a  secret  conscious- 
ness of  having  committed  murder? — a  suspicion,  or  a  certainty, 
that  a  man  must  not  even  mention  to  his  wife  ? — the  half  glim- 
mer of  a  dying  face,  the  horrid  recollection  of  a  vague  splash  of 
blood?" 

In  the  house  which  these  three  people  had  just  left,  a  young 
girl  sat  alone  in  her  own  room,  her  face  bent  down,  her  hands 
clasped  on  her  knees. 

"  Have  I  promised  ?  have  I  promised  ?"  This  was  what  she  was 
thinking.  "  How  anxious  and  pitiful  he  looked !  And  that  is 
the  time  that  comes  but  once  to  a  girl  to  be  kind  or  to  be  cruel 


128  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  her  first  lover.  I  could  not  be  cruel ;  and  yet  I  am  not  deep- 
ly pledged.  We  may  find  out  it  is  all  a  mistake,  after  all ;  and 
when  we  are  old,  I  dare  say  we  shall  laugh  over  our  youthful  ro- 
mance.    When  will  he  speak  to  my  father?" 

Her  thoughts  took  another  turn  —  fled  southward  with  the 
speed  of  lightning : 

"  Oh,  my  good,  kind  friend !"  she  would  have  said,  if  she  had 
translated  her  fancies  into  speech,  "  why  were  you  so  sad  to- 
night, and  silent,  and  far-away  in  your  look  ?  You  said  you  were 
pleased — only  to  please  me.  Have  you  no  one  to  ask  you  what 
you  are  thinking  about,  when  you  look  like  that?  And  don't 
you  know  there  are  some  who  would  give  their  life — who  would 
willingly  and  gladly  give  their  own  worthless  life  away — if  that 
would  brighten  your  sad  eyes  and  make  you  cheerful  and  happy  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FIRE     AND     WATER. 


If  George  Miller  had  any  hope  of  winning  Violet  North  for  a 
wife,  he  set  about  the  task  in  the  most  wrong-headed  of  fashions. 
A  little  more  imagination,  and  of  the  perception  that  accompa- 
nies imagination,  would  have  shown  him  the  folly  of  prematurely 
brandishing  in  the  face  of  a  high-spirited  girl,  who  dearly  loved 
her  liberty,  those  shackles  of  matrimony  which  ought  to  have 
been  kept  in  the  background,  or  altogether  concealed.  He  would 
have  seen  that  his  best  chances  hung  on  his  fostering  that  senti- 
ment of  half-humorous,  half-tender  romance  with  which  she  was 
disposed  to  regard  her  youthful  lover;  he  ought  to  have  let  the 
gentle  process  of  time  strengthen  this  sentiment ;  he  ought  to 
have  accustomed  her  to  the  notion  of  losing  her  liberty  by  slow 
and  insidious  degrees.  The  matter-of-fact  young  man  missed  all 
that.  He  wanted  to  know  exactly  how  they  stood.  He  could 
not  understand  why  they  should  not  be  engaged  like  other  peo- 
ple. What  harm  was  there  in  a  ring?  In  a  word,  he  was  anx- 
ious to  take  possession  of  a  beautiful  wife;  while  she  regarded 
his  claims  upon  her  with  surprise  and  distinct  aversion — hence 
all  manner  of  lovers'  quarrels,  which  were  exciting  enough,  but 
rather  dangerous. 


FIRE    AND    WATER.  129 

First  of  all,  he  had  gone  to  Sir  Acton  North,  who  received  him 
with  much  friendliness. 

"  What !"  said  he,  when  the  young  man  had  told  his  story, 
"  you  run  away  with  a  girl,  and  then  you  come  and  ask  her  fa- 
ther for  permission  to  court  her.  That  is  putting  the  horse  be- 
hind the  cart,  isn't  it  ?" 

Mr.  Miller  was  very  nervous ;  but  when  his  proposed  father-in- 
law  was  good  enough  to  make  a  joke,  he  was  bound  to  laugh  at 
it ;  so  he  grinned  a  ghastly  grin. 

"  What  does  she  say,  eh  ?  What  does  she  say  herself  ?  That 
is  the  point." 

Indeed,  the  great  railway  engineer  could  have  no  objection  to 
the  young  man  as  a  husband  for  Violet.  He  was  of  a  rich  and 
reputable  family  ;  he  was  young,  good-looking,  apparently  good- 
tempered;  his  business  prospects  were  excellent.  There  was  an- 
other point  to  be  considered.  Sir  Acton  had  a  suspicion  that  the 
truce  between  his  wife  and  her  step-daughter  was  dangerously 
hollow ;  at  any  moment  the  girl  might  have  to  go  ;  and  whither 
could  she  go  ?  If  she  wanted  to  marry  this  young  man,  why 
should  she  not?  Moreover,  he  knew  he  would  be  paying  a  com- 
pliment to  Lady  North  in  rather  encouraging  the  attentions  of 
this  young  man ;  so  that,  while  he  pleased  himself  by  rendering 
Violet's  future  more  secure,  he  would  make  his  consent  a  favor 
granted  to  his  wife.  This  is  always  good  policy  on  the  part  of 
a  husband. 

"  Well,  sir,"  young  Miller  answered,  "  I  have  asked  nothing 
definite.     I  thought  it  better  to  come  to  you  first." 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right.  Well,  you  must  question  herself, 
you  know  ;  but  be  cautious." 

Mr.  Miller  was  rather  puzzled  by  the  twinkling  light  that  came 
into  the  gray  eyes  of  this  big,  white-bearded  man. 

"  She  wants  dealing  with,"  said  her  father,  frankly.  "  She 
won't  be  mastered.  However,  she  has  been  very  quiet  and  good 
since  we  came  back  from  Canada — perhaps  that  will  last." 

These  cautions  were  rather  ominous ;  but,  then,  a  young  man 
is  always  convinced  that  he  knows  a  dozen  times  as  much  about 
the  nature  of  his  sweetheart  as  her  own  father  or  mother  knows, 
who  has  only  lived  with  her  for  a  matter  of  twenty  years  or  so. 

"There  is  another  point,"  said  George  Miller,  pulling  his  cour- 
age together,  and  proceeding  to  talk  with  a  business-like  air. 

6* 


130  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  know  what  she  will  say  ;  but  it  may  be  better 
if  I  tell  you  how  my  money  matters  stand.  I  hope  shortly  to 
have  about  nine  hundred  or  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  from  this 
partnership.  Then,  when  I  marry,  I  expect  my  father  will  give 
me  twenty  thousand  pounds.  I  don't  see  how  he  could  give  me 
less  than  that,  because  he  gave  as  much  to  my  sister  when  she 
married,  and  I  am  the  only  son." 

"  When  you  get  it,  don't  put  it  in  railways,"  said  Sir  Acton, 
briefly. 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  young  Miller  (though  he  would  have  liked 
half  an  hour's  chat  on  this  matter  with  so  competent  an  authori- 
ty). "  If  I  can't  get  two  or  three  good  mortgages — and  I  sup- 
pose it  is  difficult  to  get  them  nowadays  at  six  per  cent. — I  mean 
to  spread  the  money  over  half  a  dozen  of  the  best  foreign  stocks ; 
and  that  way  you  can  average  nearly  six  per  cent,  without  very 
much  risk." 

"  Very  good — very  good,"  said  Sir  Acton ;  "  but  keep  it  nearer 
five.  Five  is  quite  enough ;  there  is  never  any  great  safety  over 
five." 

"  And  then,"  said  the  young  man,  rather  hesitatingly,  "  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  have  about  two  thousand  pounds  a  year." 

"  Very  good ;  quite  enough  to  live  on,"  was  Sir  Acton's  busi- 
ness-like reply.  "  Too  much,  I  should  say,  for  young  people. 
You  ought  <k>  save  on  that." 

Mr.  Miller  waited  for  a  second ;  he  seemed  to  expect  that  Sir 
Acton  would  say  something  more.  Was  there  to  be  no  mention 
— not  even  the  least  hint — of  the  possible  dowry  on  the  other 
side? 

A  servant  came  to  say  the  carriage  was  below. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  I  am  sure,"  said  Sir  Acton,  shaking  hands 
with  the  young  man.  "  You  will  go  into  the  drawing-room,  I 
suppose :  the  girls  are  sure  to  be  there." 

"  Sir  Acton,"  the  young  man  said,  stopping  him,  "  I  haven't 
said  how  much  I  am  grateful  to  you  for — for — " 

"  No,  no,  not  at  all,"  said  the  other,  as  he  hurried  away.  "  You 
settle  it  all  with  her." 

Mr.  Miller  crossed  the  passage,  and  entered  the  drawing-room  ; 
the  music  ceased  as  he  did  so,  and  one  of  Lady  North's  daughters 
left  the  piano.  Altogether  there  were  four  girls  in  the  room ;  one 
of  them  being  Violet,  who,  knowing  that  Mr.  Miller  was  in  the 


FIRE    AND    WATER.  131 

house,  and  guessing  the  object  of  his  visit,  had  taken  refuge  with 
her  half-sisters,  so  that  he  should  not  find  her  alone. 

It  was  a  large  and  sombre  apartment ;  for  Lady  North  and 
her  daughters  affected  high  art  in  the  matter  of  house-decoration. 
What  with  the  dark  painting  of  the  ceiling,  the  bottle-green  paper 
and  brown  panelings  of  the  walls,  the  deep  unrelieved  red  of  the 
carpet ;  the  black  cabinets,  and  the  stained  windows,  the  spacious 
and  melancholy  chamber  looked  like  a  great  sepulchral  vault.  It 
used  to  be  said  —  but  the  statement  was  not  true  —  that  Lady 
North's  daughters,  when  they  happened  to  be  at  home  in  the  even- 
ing, sat  in  a  row  in  this  solemn  apartment,  all  of  them  silent,  all 
of  them  dressed  in  white,  each  holding  a  tall  white  lily  in  her 
hand,  and  having  a  silver  star  in  her  hair.  At  the  present  mo- 
ment, at  all  events,  they  were  not  so  engaged.  They  seemed  sin- 
gularly disturbed,  restless,  and  embarrassed  when  Mr.  Miller  enter- 
ed— all  except  Violet,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  looked  a  little  impa- 
tient and  angry.  First  of  all,  the  young  lady  who  had  been  play- 
ing said  she  wished  to  find  some  music  somewhere,  and  left  the 
room.  After  a  second  or  two,  another  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  Sally  would  never  find  the  music ;  and  so  she  set  off  to  look 
for  it.  The  color  in  Miss  Violet's  face  deepened.  Then  the 
third  and  l-emaining  sister  sprung  up,  and  said, 

"Isn't  that  the  postman,  Violet?  Oh,  I  must  go  and  see 
what  he  has  brought." 

This  was  too  much. 

"  You  know  it  is  not  the  postman !"  she  said,  hotly.  "  I  wish, 
Anatolia,  you  would  stay  where  you  are." 

"  I  shall  be  back  directly,"  said  Anatolia ;  and  then  she  went 
quickly,  leaving  these  two  in  solemn  silence,  both  embarrassed, 
and  one  inclined  to  be  vexed,  angry,  and  rebellious. 

"Why  should  you  wish  them  to  stay  in  the  room,  Violet?"  he 
asked. 

"  Because  I  don't  like  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  They  know  quite 
well  why  you  are  here  to-day.  And  they  believe — they  believe — 
I  can  not  tell  you  what  nonsense  they  believe !" 

"  I  know,"  said  he.  "  The  girls  are  sensible.  They  believe 
we  are  engaged,  or  about  to  be.    Why  shouldn't  we  be  engaged  ?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  to  be  engaged." 

"  Every  body  approves  of  it,"  said  he.  "  Your  father  has  no 
objections ;  I  am  sure  Lady  North  would  have  none ;  and  I  can 


132  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

answer  for  my  people  that  they  would  be  delighted.  And  that 
is  another  thing,  Violet — I  should  so  like  to  introduce  you  to  my 
family." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  "  but  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
be  introduced  to  them  any  more  than  to  other  families  whom  I 
don't  know." 

"  Well,  that  is  rather  strange,"  said  he,  "  considering  our  rela- 
tions." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  any  relations  existing  between  us." 

"  Oh,  indeed." 

"  No." 

"  I  think  you  are  in  rather  a  bad  temper  to-day." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  offend  you,"  she  said ;  "  but  it  is  better  to  tell 
you  the  plain  truth.  When  you  talk  about  an  engagement,  and 
about  being  introduced  to  your  friends,  you  make  me  wish  I  had 
never  seen  you ;  you  do,  indeed.  Look  at  those  girls  going 
away — because  they  think  we  have  secrets  to  talk  over." 

In  her  impatience,  she  got  up  and  went  to  the  piano. 

"  What  would  you  like  me  to  play  for  you  ?"  she  said,  coldly. 

He  was  quite  as  much  inclined  to  be  angry  at  this  moment  as 
she  was;  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  consequences.  She  was  in  a 
mood  that  might  work  mischief  if  she  were  provoked. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  do  be  reasonable.  You  are  too  proud. 
You  dislike  the  notion  of  people  imagining  that  you — well,  that 
you  care  enough  for  me,  or  for  any  man,  to  think  of  marrying 
him.  But  every  girl  has  to  go  through  that ;  and  if  the  truth 
were  known,  other  girls  don't  laugh  at  her — they  envy  her.  I 
do  not  wish  to  force  you  to  do  any  thing  you  don't  like ;  only  I 
must  say  I  expected  a  little  better  treatment  when  I  came  here 
to-day." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  treat  you  badly,  or  goodly,  or  any  way,"  she 
said,  with  indignant  incoherence.  "  Why  can't  we  be  friends 
like  other  people  ?  I  wish  to  be  kind  to  you — I  do,  indeed.  All 
the  time  I  was  in  Canada  there  was  nobody  in  England  I  thought 
more  about  than  you — at  least,  there  was  next  to  nobody.  And 
when  I  saw  you  over  at  Mr.  Drummond's  I  thought  it  would  be 
such  a  nice  thing  to  be  friends  with  you.  And  now  you  want  to 
drag  me  into  engagements  and  interviews — " 

"  Well,  you  are  a  stupid  girl,"  said  he,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
good  humor.     "Don't  you  know  that  you  are  so  pretty  that  I 


FIRE    AND    WATER.  133 

am  bound  to  try  to  secure  you  for  my  wife?  You  might  go  and 
marry  somebody  else  while  that  nice  friendship  was  the  only  bond 
between  us.     Come,  Violet — " 

He  took  her  hand ;  she  drew  it  away. 

"  What  shall  I  play  for  you  ?"  said  she. 

He  suddenly  regarded  her  with  a  suspicious  look. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  with  equal  coldness,  "  you  have  reasons  for 
not  wishing  that  we  should  be  engaged  ?" 

"  Plenty,"  she  said,  frankly. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  some  one  else  to  whom  you  would  rather  be 
engaged  ?" 

A  mischievous  notion  got  into  her  head  at  this  moment :  she 
answered  nothing. 

"  Am  I  right  ?"  he  said,  with  an  affectation  of  lofty  calmness. 

"  What  if  you  are  ?"  she  said,  looking  down. 

His  calmness  went. 

"  Then  I  consider,"  he  said,  warmly,  "  that,  if  that  is  so,  you 
have  been  treating  me  shamefully  —  letting  me  come  here  on  a 
fool's  errand ;  but  I  don't  believe  it — I  tell  you  I  don't  believe — " 

"  You  don't  believe  what  ?" 

"  That  you  are  likely  to  be  engaged  to  some  one  else." 

"  I  never  said  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  she  said,  with  provoking 
sweetness.  "  I  thought  I  had  been  telling  you  how  I  abhorred 
the  notion  of  being  engaged  to  any  body.  If  you  choose  to  im- 
agine a  lot  of  foolish  things,  I  can  not  help  it.  I  wished  to  be 
very  friendly  with  you.  I  don't  see  why  you  should  get  into  a 
temper.     You  have  not  told  me  what  you  wish  me  to  play." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  must  go  now." 

She  rose,  with  great  gentleness  and  dignity,  and  offered  him 
her  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  going  so  soon,"  she  said. 

He  stood  looking  at  her  with  irresolution,  regret,  anger,  and 
disappointment,  all  visible  at  once  in  his  face  —  disappointment 
most  marked,  perhaps. 

"  Some  men,"  said  he,  calmly,  "  would  call  your  conduct  by 
an  ugly  name ;  they  would  say  it  was  the  conduct  of — a  flirt." 

The  word  seemed  to  sting  her  like  a  horsewhip. 

"  I  never  flirted  with  any  one  in  all  my  life,"  she  said,  hotly. 
"  No  one  would  dare  to  say  such  a  thing  to  me." 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  said,  forgetting  all  his  calmness,  and  becoming 


134  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

as  vehement  as  herself.  "  You  allow  a  man  to  ask  you  to  marry 
him—" 

"  How  could  I  prevent  that  ?" 

"  You  allow  him  to  go  to  your  father,  and  make  arrangements, 
and  have  every  thing  understood ;  and  then  you  turn  round  on 
him,  and  say  there  is  nothing  understood,  and  hint  that  you  would 
rather  he  engaged  to  somebody  else,  and  all  that — and  that  is  not 
the  conduct  of  a  flirt  ?     I  wonder  what  is  !" 

"  Then,"  said  she,  with  flashing  eyes,  "  if  that  is  your  opinion 
of  me,  you  had  better  go." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  said  he ;  and  he  crossed  the  room,  took  up 
his  hat,  bowed  to  her,  and  went  out. 

She  sat  down,  with  flaming  cheeks,  to  the  piano,  and  tried  to 
play.  That  was  not  much  use.  She  rose,  and,  hastily  going  to 
her  own  room,  flung  herself  on  the  bed,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of 
passionate  and  angry  tears,  vowing  to  herself  a  thousand  times 
that  she  would  never  again  have  any  thing  to  say  to  any  man  of 
woman  born,  not  if  she  were  to  live  a  thousand  years. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LIKE    GETTING    HOME    AGAIN. 


The  cup  of  her  sorrows  was  not  yet  full.  When  she  had  quite 
exhausted  her  indignation  over  the  perfidy  and  unreasonableness 
and  bad  temper  of  mankind,  and  when  she  had  quite  resolved 
that  she  would  never  marry — no,  not  if  a  king's  son  were  to  en- 
treat her  —  she  got  up,  and  washed  her  face,  and  arranged  her 
hair,  and  went  to  Lady  North.  In  a  humble  and  submissive  tone 
she  asked  the  little,  dignified,  gray-eyed  woman  to  let  her  have 
the  brougham  for  that  evening. 

Lady  North  was  surprised  and  offended.  Her  daughter  Ana- 
tolia had  run  quickly  to  tell  her  that  now  there  was  no  longer 
any  doubt  about  Violet  being  engaged ;  for  Mr.  Miller  was  in  the 
study  in  confidential  talk  with  Sir  Acton ;  while  Violet,  silent  and 
embarrassed,  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  and  would  answer  no  ques- 
tions about  the  young  man.  When,  therefore,  Violet  now  pre- 
sented herself  before  her  step -mother,  that  lady  naturally  con- 


"like  getting  home  again."  135 

eluded  she  had  come  to  inform  her  of  the  engagement.  In  place 
of  that,  she  only  asked  for  the  brougham. 

"  Violet,"  said  Lady  North,  coldly,  "  I  do  not  think  that  this 
excessive  secrecy  becomes  a  young  girl." 

"  I  don't  know  -what  you  mean,"  the  girl  said,  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  indignation  in  her  eyes.     "  What  secrecy  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  inquire,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  confide  in 
me,"  said  the  other,  in  her  slow,  precise  fashion.  "  I  should  have 
thought  I  was  the  proper  person  to  whom  you  ought  to  have 
come  for  advice.  I  have  no  doubt  you  want  the  brougham  to  go 
over  to  your  friends  in  Camberwell." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  have  friends  in  Camberwell,"  said  the  girl, 
proudly.  "  It  is  something  to  have  true  friends  anywhere.  But 
what  is  the  secrecy  ?     What  have  I  concealed  ?" 

"You  appear  not  to  know,"  said  Lady  North,  fixing  her  cold, 
keen,  gray  eyes  on  the  girl,  "  that  I  was  aware  of  Mr.  Miller  being 
with  your  papa  ?" 

"And  what  is  that  to  me?"  Violet  said,  rapidly,  and  with  hot 
cheeks.  "  Why  should  I  come  and  report  to  you  what  does  not 
concern  me  ?  If  you  were  anxious  to  know  what  my  father  and 
Mr.  Miller  were  talking  about,  why  not  ask  themselves  ?  There  is 
something  quite  as  bad  as  secrecy  and  concealment — and  that  is 
suspicion — constant  suspicion,  watching  you  at  every  turn,  when 
you  have  nothing  at  all  to  conceal — " 

She  suddenly  altered  her  tone ;  drawing  herself  up,  and  speak- 
ing with  a  certain  proud  indifference, 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  wish  me  to  have  the  brougham  ?" 

"  Your  papa  won't  be  home  till  late  this  evening.  Really,  the 
responsibility — " 

"All  right,"  said  the  girl,  turning  fcnvard  the  door,  "a  four- 
wheeled  cab  will  do  as  well." 

"Ah!  Violet,"  said  her  step -mother,  with  a  sigh,  "no  one 
seems  to  have  the  least  control  over  you." 

"  No ;  because  no  one  has  ever  cared  to  have,"  said  the  girl, 
bitterly,  as  she  left  the  room — "  never  since  I  was  born." 

When  she  got  outside  the  house,  she  seemed  to  breathe  a  freer 
and  fresher  air.  Adventuring  out  by  herself  in  this  fashion  did 
not  seem  to  concern  her  much.  She  had  no  difficulty  in  getting 
a  flbur-wheeled  cab  ;  and  she  bid  the  man,  before  crossing  Water- 
loo Bridge,  stop  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  Strand. 


130  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

She  went  into  one  shop,  and  bought  a  huge  flagon  of  lavender- 
water,  or  some  such  scent :  that  was  for  Mrs.  Warrener.  She  went 
into  another  shop,  and  bought  a  beautiful  little  kerchief:  that  was 
for  Amy.     Then  she  went  into  a  book-seller's  shop. 

"  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  book  on  philosophy,  if  you  please," 
said  the  handsome  young  lady,  in  her  gentlest  way. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  book-seller ;  and  then  he  waited  further 
instructions. 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  know  what,"  she  said,  observing  this.  "  You 
must  tell  me.  It  is  for  a  gentleman  who  has  studied  nearly  every 
thing ;  and  it  must  be  a  very  good  one.  What  is  the  best  one 
you  have  got  ?" 

"Really  I  don't  know,"  said  the  book -seller,  with  a  smile. 
"  Here  is  John  Stuart  Mill's—" 

"  Oh,  he  won't  do  at  all,"  said  Violet,  promptly ;  "  he  is  alive." 

The  book-seller  began  to  be  interested  and  amused. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  respectfully,  "  but  you  do  not 
mean  that  your  friend  is  wiser  than  any  body  alive  ?" 

"  I  did  not  quite  say  that,"  she  answered,  simply.  "  However, 
you  must  give  me  something  he  is  not  likely  to  have  read — some- 
thing very  difficult,  and  first-class,  and  good." 

Now,  if  this  customer  had  been  a  fussy  old  gentleman  in  spec- 
tacles, or  a  wrinkled  old  lady  in  black  satin,  the  book-seller  would 
have  politely  declined  the  responsibility ;  but  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  persuasive  influence  in  the  presence  of  this  tall  and  hand- 
some girl,  with  the  big  dark  eyes  and  the  sweetly  parted  lips. 
He  did  not  even  laugh  at  her.  He  was  most  kind  and  patient  in 
making  suggestions,  and  in  taking  her  round  the  shelves.  And 
at  last  she  pounced  upon  the  proper  book  in  triumph ;  for  she 
remembered  to  have  heard  Mr.  Drummond  complaining  that  Mr. 
Darwin's  last  book  had  not  arrived  from  the  library,  and  here 
were  the  two  green  volumes  of  "  The  Descent  of  Man "  staring 
her  in  the  face. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you  so  much  trouble,"  she  said,  with 
one  of  her  sweetest  smiles. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  no  trouble  at  all,"  said  the  book-seller,  with 
quite  unusual  emphasis;  and  then,  when  the  glass  doors  had 
shut  behind  that  beautiful  vision  of  youthful  grace,  he  could  not 
help  wondering  who  was  the  happy  man  who  had  won  the  ad- 
miration and  reverence  of  so  lovely  a  creature. 


"like  getting  home  again."  137 

So  Violet  and  her  treasures  were  bundled  into  the  ancient 
four-wheeler;  and  once  more  she  set  out  for  her  journey.  By 
this  time  the  lurid  and  sultry  evening  had  died  down  into  a 
gloomy  and  thunderous  darkness;  and  by  the  time  she  had  got 
near  to  Camberwell  Grove  night  seemed  to  have  come  on  prema- 
turely. The  lamps  were  being  lighted  as  the  first  low  rumble  of 
the  thunder  was  heard;  and  presently  the  people  began  to  flee 
from  the  pavements,  where  the  splashes  of  the  rain  were  leaving 
marks  of  the  breadth  of  half  a  crown.  The  cabman  stopped  in 
order  to  pull  out  a  water-proof  cape. 

"  Why  don't  you  drive  on  and  get  underneath  the  trees  ?"  she 
called  out  to  him  ;  for  they  were  now  near  the  foot  of  the  Grove. 

When  at  length  he  was  forced  to  pull  up  under  the  thick 
branches  of  the  tall  elms,  the  rain  was  coming  down  in  fierce, 
straight  torrents,  hissing  out  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  rush- 
ing down  the  gutter  in  a  brown  flood.  All  the  ominous  stillness 
of  the  evening  had  gone ;  the  wind  had  risen  and  was  blowing 
about  the  summits  of  the  elms  and  poplars;  there  was  an  echo  of 
the  distant  thunder  from  time  to  time ;  the  dark-green  branches 
swayed  and  creaked.  By  slow  degrees,  however,  all  this  noise 
and  tumult  ceased ;  there  was  a  pattering  of  heavy  drops  in  the 
trees,  but  less  hissing  of  rain  in  the  road,  as  the  cabman  resumed 
his  journev,  and  proceeded  to  urge  his  patient  steed  up  the  steep 
hill. 

Now,  when  Violet  stepped  out  of  the  cab,  up  there  near  the 
top  of  the  hill,  all  the  world  had  grown  clear  and  sweet  after  the 
rain.  There  was  a  look  of  lingering  twilight  in  the  sky ;  and 
one  or  two  stars  were  becoming  visible ;  while  the  high,  black 
branches  of  the  trees  seemed  to  delight  in  the  wet,  as  they 
stretched  up  there  into  the  pale  serenity  of  the  heavens.  As  she 
walked  round  and  into  the  garden,  some  quaint  fancy  struck  her 
that  she  was  herself  like  this  sultry  and  sulky  evening  that  had 
at  last  burst  into  torrents  of  rain  aud  then  become  calm  and  se- 
rene. A  great  peacefulness  stole  in  upon  her  heart  as  she  passed 
through  the  small  garden -gate;  it  seemed  to  her  that  now  she 
was  at  home,  and  at  rest.  And  clear  and  still  as  the  sky  now 
was,  with  its  pale  stars  beginning  to  twinkle,  it  was  no  more  clear, 
and  still,  and  placid  than  the  light  that  shone  in  her  eyes  when 
she  went  forward  to  greet  her  friends. 

They  had  come  out  directly  the  shower  was  over,  to  breathe 


138  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

the  sweet  freshness  of  the  air  and  the  scents  of  the  flowers. 
They,  of  course,  were  almost  in  darkness,  but  the  small  cottage 
was  lighted  up ;  and  what  could  be  a  more  cheerful  picture  than 
the  open  French  windows  of  the  parlor  all  aglow  with  orange 
light,  and  showing  the  bright,  warm  snugness  within?  They 
were  compassionating  her  on  having  encountered  the  fierce  storm. 
She  felt  as  though  she  would  gladly  have  encountered  a  dozen 
such  storms  to  reach  this  haven  of  shelter  and  peace  at  last. 

"Ah!  you  don't  know,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  her 
arms  linked  in  hers — "  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  feel  like  get- 
ting home  again." 

"  But  I  know  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  that,  Violet,"  her 
friend  said ;  "  for  sometimes  I  think  you  are  sure  in  time  to  go 
away  and  forget  all  about  us." 

"  Yes — when  I  am  dead,"  said  the  girl.  "  Not  before  then." 
They  went  indoors,  and  when  Violet  had  put  her  hat  aside, 
she  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  asked  Amy  to  sing  to  her.  She 
suggested  the  song  too,  for  she  began  to  play  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home;"  and  then  the  companion  of  her  school -girl  days  sung, 
in  a  simple,  tender  fashion,  the  old  familiar  ballad.  What  was 
James  Drummond  doing  meanwhile  ?  He  was  lying  back  in  his 
easy-chair,  regarding  rather  wistfully  the  figure  at  the  piano,  and 
saying  to  himself, 

"  Is  it  possible,  then,  that  this  girl  has  never  had  the  sensation 
of  being  at  home  and  at  peace  except  in  the  house  of  people  who 
are  little  more  than  strangers  to  her  ?" 

She  came  away  from  the  piano,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool  which 
was  lying  on  the  hearth-rug. 

"  You  don't  think  it  a  very  clever  song !"  she  said  to  him,  tim- 
idly :  it  was  a  sort  of  apology  for  asking  a  person  of  his  superior 
culture  to  listen  to  school-girl  sentiment. 

"  I  don't  think  cleverness  has  much  to  do  with  it,"  said  he. 
"  Did  you  ever  carefully  read  the  words  of  a  song  that  pleased 
you  ?  Does  any  body  ?  No,  no.  A  chance  phrase  of  tenderness 
touches  you ;  and  you  give  up  all  the  rest — you  are  fascinated  by 
some  note  of  farewell,  let  us  say,  at  the  beginning  of  the  lyric, 
and  you  forget  afterward  to  look  particularly  at  the  despairing 
sighs,  and  the  raging  main,  and  the  usual  stock-in-trade  of  the 
song-writer.  That  is  how  I  look  at  it,  anyway.  The  song-writer 
has  only  to  catch  you  with  a  bit  of  melody,  or  sentiment,  and 


"like  getting  home  agaix."  139 

you  don't  search  for  sense  subsequently.     But,  indeed,  I  have  al- 
ways had  a  suspicion  of  rhymed  poetry — " 

Here  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  knees.  She  had  started 
him  off.     She  was  happy. 

"  I  have  always  a  sort  of  suspicion  that  the  man  has  been  led 
to  overstate,  or  understate,  or  invent  a  new  theory  altogether,  at 
the  diabolical  temptation  of  a  rhyme  or  a  particularly  catching 
phrase.  I  can  not  be  sure  of  it ;  but  I  always  suspect  it ;  don't 
you  see  ?  I  believe  that  the  suggestion  of  a  happy  rhyme  is  re- 
sponsible  for  many  a  brilliant  flight  of  fancy  and  for  many  a  po- 
etical assertion  that  is  now  taken  to  be  full  of  a  deep  philosophy. 
Oh,  by-the-way,  about  those  lyrics;  don't  you  notice  how  many 
of  the  Scotch  songs  consist  of  nothing  but  one  or  two  catching 
phrases  continually  repeated  ?  The  phrase  is  something  to  sing, 
something  a  mother  could  dandle  a  baby  to;  there  is  no  sense 
in  the  repetition,  no  story  to  tell — nothing,  ih  fact ;  but  the  song 
passes  muster  as  a  fine  song,  for  all  that.  But  talking  about 
songs  is  like  scraping  a  rose-leaf  to  see  where  the  color  is.  "Why 
did  you  leave  the  piano,  Violet  ?  Won't  you  sing  something 
now  ?" 

"Ah !  no,"  she  said.  "  My  songs  are  all  wicked  songs  :  they 
are  all  about  drinking  and  fighting ;  for  I  used  to  wish  I  could  be 
a  student  at  a  German  university — that  was  about  the  only  ambi- 
tion I  ever  had — and  be  able  to  drink  flagons  of  beer,  and  fight 
with  broadswords,  and  sing  the  Burschenlieder.  My  songs  are 
mostly  Burschenlieder  now — they  are  too  stormy  for  such  a  quiet, 
pleasant  evening.  I  propose  that  we  go  on  chatting.  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  do  you  really  think  there  was  ever  such  a  person  as  Ossian  ?" 

But  this  bid  for  the  higher  criticism  was  too  obvious:  Mr. 
Drummond  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"  Miss  Violet,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  not  induce  me  to  talk  your 
head  off.  •  My  dear  friends,  we  will  postpone  our  lecture  on  Os- 
sian until  we  can  look  across  the  blue  hills  of  Morven — more  es- 
pecially as  I  hear  the  humble  but  useful  Mary  rattling  the  supper 
things  about  the  place." 

At  this  moment,  indeed,  Mary  came  into  the  room,  and  began 
to  lay  the  cloth. 

"  You  were  speaking  of  the  Highlands,"  said  Violet,  timidly. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  fear  we  are  discounting  all  the  pleasures  of 
the  expedition  by  continually  dreaming  and  dreaming  of  it." 


140  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  not,"  she  said,  rather  wistfully.  "  It  will  be 
most  enjoyable  for  you,  I  know." 

"  But  do  you  know  this  also,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  taking  it 
for  granted  you  are  coming  with  us  too  ?" 

"James,"  his  sister  remonstrated,  "before  you  can  take  that 
for  granted  you  must  speak  to  Lady  North." 

"  I  should  like  to  go,"  Violet  said ;  and  thereafter  she  was 
rather  silent  for  a  time. 

There  were  but  two  things  on  which  James  Drummond  prided 
himself — his  judgment  of  landscapes  and  his  method  of  making 
a  salad.  On  the  present  occasion  this  latter  task,  as  well  as  that 
of  preparing  some  claret-cup,  kept  him  busily  occupied  for  sever- 
al minutes,  during  which  time  nothing  further  was  said  about  that 
projected  journey  northward.  But  by-and-by,  as  they  all  sat  com- 
fortably round  the  white  little  table,  he  began.  It  is  highly  prob- 
able that  he  himself  imagined  a  general  conversation  was  going 
on  about  the  sea,  and  the  hills,  and  shooting,  and  sailing,  whereas, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  not  a  human  being  spoke  but  himself,  the  oth- 
ers being  only  too  delighted  to  listen.  For,  as  he  rambled  on,  it 
seemed  as  if  there  was  a  sound  like  the  lapping  of  sea-waves  in 
his  talk — just  as  there  is  in  the  Mermaid's  song  in  "  Oberon  " — 
and  his  mute  audience  saw,  as  Jie  himself  seemed  to  see,  a  suc- 
cession of  pictures — the  early  morning,  with  the  scent  of  sweet- 
brier  in  the  garden,  and  the  gray  mists  rising  from  the  far  shoul- 
ders of  Morven — the  glad  forenoons  up  on  the  warm  hills,  with 
the  ring  of  the  blue  sea  all  round  the  land — the  idling  in  the  big 
boat  with  the  long  lines  over  the  side,  as  the  red  sun  went  down 
in  the  west  and  all  the  water  became  as  fire — the  delightful  walks 
at  night-time,  by  the  shore,  with  the  sea  plashing,  and  the  cool 
winds  stirring  the  scents  of  the  bushes,  and  the  stars  overhead. 
These  were  pleasant  things  to  think  of  and  to  hear  of  in  the  hope- 
less wilderness  of  London.  They  forgot  the  gas  -  lamps,  and  the 
crowded  hovels,  and  the  squalor  and  din  ;  for  they  were  looking 
into  an  enchanted  land,  filled  with  clear  sunshine  and  the  fresh 
winds  from  the  sea.  And,  somehow  or  other,  whether  intention- 
ally or  not,  Mr.  Drummond  did  take  it  for  granted  that  Violet 
North  was  to  be  with  them.  She  would  see  this,  and  go  there ; 
she  would  have  to  hear  this,  and  be  prepared  for  that.  At  last 
she  cried  out, 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  were  all  true  !     I  wish  I  were  going  with  you !" 


"like  getting  home  again."  141 

"And  so  you  are,"  said  he,  promptly. 

"  Lady  North  is  going  to  Venice,"  Violet  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Let  her,"  he  exclaimed,  recklessly. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  we  must  all  go — unless  she  and  I  happen  to 
have  a  fight  before  then,  and  then  she  will  be  glad  to  get  rid  of 
me.     It  is — a  great — temptation,"  she  added,  thoughtfully. 

"What  is?"  he  asked,  though  he  guessed  her  meaning,  for  he 
saw  a  mischievous  smile  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  sudden  decision,  "  it  would  not  be  fair  to 
get  up  a  quarrel  in  order  to  get  away.  She  has  tried  to  be  very 
civil  to  me ;  and  I  must  try  to  be  civil  too.  But  it  is  hard  work 
to  be  civil  to  some  people." 

They  had  some  further  talk  about  this  Northern  excursion, 
however,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  how  anxious  the  girl  was  to  go 
with  them.  She  seemed  to  cling  to  them  somehow,  as  though 
they  were  her  only  friends.  When  she  was  told  that  the  cab  was 
at  the  door,  she  rose  from  the  table  with  a  sigh ;  she  was  tearing 
herself  away  from  the  one  place  in  the  world  where  she  found 
peace,  homeliness,  unworldly  friends,  and  sweet  guidance. 

By-and-by  that  jolting  vehicle  was  rattling  along  the  noisy 
streets,  past  the  glare  of  lighted  shops  and  dingy  groups  of  human 
beings.  Already  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  left  far  behind 
her  all  that  she  knew  of  gentleness,  and  quiet,  and  tender  com- 
panionship. That  small  household  with  its  kindly  feeling,  its  un- 
worldly ways,  its  helpfulness,  and  charity,  and  wise  counsel — that 
indeed  was  home  to  her ;  and  as  she  thought  of  it,  the  refrain  of 
an  old  German  song — not  one  of  the  Burschenlieder — seemed  to 
speak  to  her,  and  the  speech  was  sad  enough  : 

"Far  away —  in  the  beautiful  meadows  —  is  the  house  of  my 
home.  Many  a  time  I  went  out  from  it  into  the  valley  —  0  you, 
beautiful  valley  !  I  greet  you  a  thousand  times.  Farewell,  fare- 
welir 


142  MADCAP   VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MISTAKEN    GUESSES. 

On  the  same  evening  George  Miller  hurried  along  to  his  club 
to  dress  for  a  small  dinner  party  to  which  he  had  been  invited  by 
one  of  his  fellow -members.  He  was  angry  and  indignant.  He 
would  no  longer  be  subject  to  the  caprice  of  any  woman.  Of 
course,  it  flattered  a  girl's  vanity  to  sue  for  her  hand,  and  meekly 
submit  to  any  conditions  she  might  impose ;  but  he  would  have 
no  more  of  that.  It  was  an  unsatisfactory  bargain  in  which  the 
concession  was  all  on  one  side.  Did  she  imagine  that  he  would 
enter  upon  the  duties  of  a  long  courtship,  without  the  least  inti- 
mation from  her  that  any  thing  would  come  of  it?  Was  he  to 
pledge  himself,  while  she  remained  absolutely  free  ? 

His  host  on  this  occasion  was  a  Mr.  Arthur  Headley,  a  gentle- 
man who  had  somehow  or  other  made  a  large  fortune  in  Austra- 
lia, and  come  home  to  spend  it.  He  was  a  singularly  handsome 
man,  six  feet  two  in  height,  muscular,  lithe,  with  fairly  good  feat- 
ures, and  a  magnificent  brown  beard.  A  maid-servant  conversant 
with  modern  fiction  would  have  called  him  a  demi-god.  It  is 
true,  he  was  rather  a  fool — indeed,  his  brain  seemed  to  have  un- 
dergone but  little  modification  in  its  transmisson  from  the  micro- 
cephalous ape ;  but  then  he  was  a  very  amiable  and  good-natured 
person.  There  was  but  one  spice  of  malice  in  his  nature ;  and 
that  declared  itself  in  his  treatment  of  the  secretary  of  the  club. 
He  generally  spent  the  day  in  worrying  that  harmless  official. 
All  his  literary  faculty  was  employed  in  composing  essays  of 
complaint  to  be  laid  before  the  committee.  There  was  ordina- 
rily more  writing  on  the  back  than  on  the  front  of  his  dinner- 
bills.  When  he  walked  in  the  park,  in  deep  meditation,  the 
chances  were  a  hundred  to  one  he  was  trying  to  invent  some  pe- 
culiarly cutting  phrase  to  describe  the  disgracefully  shabby  ap- 
pearance of  the  ash-trays  in  the  smoking-room,  or  the  shamelessly 
careless  fashion  in  which  the  evening  papers  were  stitched  through 
the  middle.  Even  demi-gods  of  six  feet  two  must  have  an  occu- 
pation. 


MISTAKEN    GUESSES.  143 

They  dined  in  a  private  room,  and  the  talk  was  general.  If 
Mr.  Miller  wished  to  forget  the  fickle  race  of  womankind,  here 
was  an  opportunity.  The  table  was  brilliantly  lighted ;  the  serv- 
ice was  quick,  silent,  efficient ;  the  conversation  was  of  a  simple 
and  ingenuous  character.  Indeed,  under  the  presidency  of  Mr. 
Hcadley,  the  talk  chiefly  ran  upon  the  internal  arrangements  and 
comparative  merits  of  other  clubs,  and  was  directed  to  show  that 
no  institution  was  so  badly  managed  as  the  Judseum.  One  ad- 
mired the  white  and  gold  of  the  morning -room  at  the  United 
Universities' ;  another  rather  preferred  the  ecclesiastical  gloom  of 
the  Junior  Universities' ;  another  lamented  the  absence  of  a  good 
entrance-hall ;  and  a  fourth,  when  the  steward's  tariff  was  under 
discussion,  suddenly  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul !  do  you  know  they  give  you  cold 
beef  and  a  pint  of  claret  at  the  Reform  for  one-and-twopence — 
one  shilling  and  twopence  for  your  lunch  ?"  After  which  there 
was  a  pause  of  awe-struck  silence. 

By-and-by,  however,  when  a  little  wine  had  been  drunk,  every 
body  wished  to  talk,  except  one ;  and  so  the  conversationalists 
inadvertently  split  themselves  up  into  small  groups.  That  one 
was  Mr.  Miller.  He  Avas  rather  gloomy.  He  did  not  seem  to 
take  much  interest  in  what  was  going  on ;  he  listened,  in  an  ab- 
stracted fashion,  to  this  or  that  controversy  about  wine,  or  yachts, 
or  boot-makers,  and  heeded  but  little. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  heard  something  that  made  his  heart 
jump. 

"  Who  is  that  tall  girl  with  the  white  feather,"  asked  a  gentle- 
man on  the  other  side  of  the  table — some  one  having  been  talk- 
ing of  the  Park — "  who  drives  the  pair  of  grays  ?" 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?"  said  Mr.  Headley,  carelessly.  "  She's 
a  daughter  of  North,  the  railway-man." 

"She's  an  uncommonly  good-looking  girl,  that's  all  I  know. 
She  has  only  come  quite  lately  into  the  Park." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  the  host,  "  I  don't  see  any  body  to 
come  near  Lady — " 

"  Headley,"  broke  in  young  Miller,  with  intemperate  wrath,  "we 
will  drop  this,  if  you  please.     I  happen  to  know  Miss  North." 

There  was  an  embarrassed  pause ;  the  announcement  of  the 
price  of  cold  beef  at  the  Reform  Club  could  not  have  excited 
more  surprise. 


144  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Headley,  good-naturedly,  "I  beg  a 
thousand  pardons ;  and  I  envy  you." 

So  the  little  incident  passed  off  quietly  enough ;  but  was  it  not 
apparent  to  every  one  present  that  there  was  some  special  reason 
for  the  high  color  on  the  young  man's  face  ?  Of  course,  if  they 
had  known  that  he  was  acquainted  with  Miss  North,  they  would 
not  have  spoken  of  her;  but  had  they  said  any  harm  of  her? 
Would  he  have  been  as  angry  over  the  mention  of  the  name  of 
the  Princess  of  Wales,  or  Lady  Dudley,  or  Baroness  Burdett- 
Coutts  ?     They  drew  their  own  conclusions. 

And  as  for  him — this  chance  mention  of  Violet  did  not  in- 
crease his  happiness.  It  was  evident,  then,  that  she  was  attract- 
ing attention,  as  was  natural.  Whatever  imagination  he  had  was 
inflamed  by  a  sudden  and  secret  fire  of  jealousy ;  and  a  thousand 
devils  appeared  in  the  smoke.  He  hated  even  the  innocent  per- 
son on  the  other  side  of  the  table  who  had  betrayed  interest  in 
Miss  North  by  asking  her  name.  He  hated  the  idle,  lolling 
crowds  in  the  Park,  who  stared,  and  criticised,  and — worst  of  all 
— admired. 

Well,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  and  his  companions  went  up 
to  the  smoking-room,  he  stole  off  for  a  few  minutes,  and  sat 
down  to  write  a  letter  to  Violet  North.  It  was  a  very  penitent 
letter.  He  confessed  that  he  had  been  impatient  and  unreasona- 
ble. If  she  would  forgive  him  this  time,  he  would  not  again  ask 
her  for  any  pledge  or  assurance.  She  should  be  perfectly  free. 
He  would  be  content  if  she  in  the  mean  time  would  give  him 
only  her  friendship,  and  would  take  his  chance  of  the  future. 
And  was  she  going  to  the  flower-show  at  South  Kensington  on 
Thursday  ? 

This  letter  he  sent  up  to  Euston  Square  by  the  club  commis- 
sionnaire,  so  that  Violet  received  it  when  she  returned  in  her  four- 
wheeler  from  visiting  her  friends  in  the  South.  Now  she  was 
in  a  very  gentle  frame  of  mind — she  generally  was  after  seeing 
them.  It  was  evident  the  young  man  was  grieved  about  their 
quarrel ;  and  she  was  sorry  to  have  given  him  pain.  She  did  not 
sit  down  to  answer  the  letter  there  and  then ;  but  she  resolved 
that  the  reply  should  be  a  kind  and  friendly  one. 

He  received  her  note  the  following  evening ;  he  had  been  ear- 
ly at  his  rooms  to  wait  for  it.  It  was  the  first  scrap  of  her  writ- 
ing that  had  come  into  his  possession :  a  thrill  went  through  his 


MISTAKEN    GUESSES.  145 

heart  even  as  lie  looked  at  liis  own  name  outside  written  by  her 
hand.  He  opened  the  envelope  quickly;  his  eyes  seemed  to 
catch  the  sense  of  the  page  before  he  had  time  to  read  the  lines ; 
he  knew  at  least  she  was  not  deeply  offended.  He  read  the  let- 
ter, and  then  got  up  and  went  to  the  window,  and  stared  down 
into  Half  Moon  Street.  He  read  it  again,  and  kept  staring  at 
the  paper,  mechanically  noticing  the  curious  fashion  (apparently 
French)  in  which  she  formed  her  capital  /'s.  He  read  it  over 
two  or  three  times,  and  yet  seemed  possessed  with  the  notion 
that  he  ought  to  discover  more  from  these  simple  words. 

There  was,  indeed,  a  studied  simplicity  about  them.  She  told 
him,  briefly  and  plainly,  that  she  hoped  they  would  remain  good 
friends;  that  the  cause  of  this  recent  disagreement  was  well 
known  to  both  of  them,  and  could  be  avoided ;  and  that  she  was 
very  glad  he  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  necessity  of  guarding 
against  misconstruction. 

He  was  very  soon  to  find  out  what  this  last  phrase  meant. 

Violet  went  with  Lady  North  and  her  daughters  to  the  flower- 
show,  and  there,  naturally  enough,  was  Mr.  George  Miller,  very 
smartly  dressed,  a  trifle  self-conscious,  and  obviously  anxious  to 
be  attentive  to  the  whole  party.  The  bright  summer- day,  the 
rich  masses  of  colors,  the  sweet  and  ever-varying  perfumes,  and 
the  cheerful  music  outside — all  this  was  pleasant  enough;  and 
Violet,  who  Avas  not  sated  with  the  ordinary  sights  and  occupa- 
tions of  London  life,  was  enjoying  herself  thoroughly,  and  was 
most  friendly  in  her  treatment  of  him.  A  rumor  that  some  royal 
personages  had  arrived,  and  were  going  through  one  of  the  tents, 
caused  a  gentle  rush  of  the  crowd  in  that  direction,  and  with  the 
crowd  went  Lady  North  and  her  daughter ;  so  that  inadvertently 
Violet  and  Mr.  Miller  were  left  by  themselves,  if  not  quite  alone. 
That  did  not  make  any  alteration  in  her  manner — she  was  deeply 
interested  at  the  moment  in  a  sensitive-plant — but  it  did  in  his. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have  nothing  of  yours 
that — that  I  can  keep  by  me.     Will  you  give  me  a  flower?" 

She  turned  round  with  something  of  coldness  in  her  manner. 

"  That  would  be  flirtation,  would  it  not?"  she  asked,  with  some 
little  dignity. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  raking  up  that  old  quarrel  ?"  he  said,  in 
an  injured  way.     "I  thought  that  was  to  lie  forgotten." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  measured  and  clear  fashion, 

7 


146  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"but  not  the  lesson  of  it.  I  think  it  is  better  we  should  have  a 
distinct  understanding  about  that.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  any  thing 
you  can  reproach  me  with  afterward ;  for  who  can  tell  what  may 
happen  ?" 

Her  meaning  was  clear  enough.  She  was  determined  to  give 
him  none  of  that  "  encouragement "  on  which  he  might  presume 
to  found  a  claim,  or  to  substantiate  a  charge  of  fickleness  and 
treachery.  It  came  to  this,  then :  if  he  liked  to  have  their  pres- 
ent relations  continue,  well  and  good ;  but  it  was  distinctly  to  be 
recognized  that  she  was  not  responsible.  Now  this  was  an  intel- 
ligible position  to  be  taken  up  by  a  young  woman  who  did  not 
find  that  she  cared  about  a  young  man  to  that  degree  which 
would  warrant  her  in  encouraging  his  hopes ;  but  it  could  not  be 
expected  to  recommend  itself  to  the  young  man. 

"  I  think  you  are  very  hard  on  me,"  said  he,  rather  gloomily. 

"  Oh,  don't  think  so !"  she  said,  quickly,  with  an  anxious  kind- 
ness in  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  so,  at  any  rate.  But  it 
is  not  fair  to  you,  nor  to  myself,  that — that — " 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said,  bitterly.  "  You  can  not  forgive  me 
for  that  one  phrase." 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  Only  it  opened  my 
eyes.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  letting  you  go  to  papa.  But 
you  know  you  told  me  that  I  was  absolutely  unpledged — that 
it  was  all  a  '  perhaps ' — that  you  were  quite  content  to  wait  and 
see—" 

"  And  so  I  am  !"  he  said,  with  unusual  decision  of  manner,  and 
his  voice  was  low  and  rapid.  "  I  don't  care  what  happens ;  I 
am  too  deeply  pledged  already ;  you  can  be  as  free  as  you  like. 
Men  have  done  more  foolish  things  for-  smaller  prizes.  I  will 
take  my  chance.  And  yet,  I  don't  think  most  girls  are  as  hard 
as  that—" 

"  I  will  give  you  a  flower,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  said. 

She  looked  around,  and  at  length  descried  a  bit  of  blossom 
that  had  fallen  or  been  cut  off. 

"  Will  that  do  ?"  she  asked. 

He  took  it  from  her,  threw  it  on  the  ground,  and  kicked  it 
aside. 

"  I  don't  want  it  from  you  in  that  way.  I  will  wait  until  you 
can  give  me  a  flower  without  looking  as  if  I  had  put  you  on  the 
tread-mill." 


MISTAKEN    GUESSES.  147 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  am  sorry  we  should  quar- 
rel so.     Shall  we  go  and  see  where  Lady  North  has  gone  ?" 

"Violet!"  he  said,  "I  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  wish  to 
quarrel ;  but  yet  it  seems  hard  that  you  should  be  so  proud  and 
indifferent — and  I  get  angry,  that's  a  fact — but  I  am  very  sorry. 
Come,  let  us  be  friends  again." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said. 

" Give  me  another  bit  of  flower?" 

She  began  to  laugh. 

"  Isn't  this  just  a  little  too  childish  ?  You  make  me  think  I 
am  back  at  Miss  Main's  again,  and  quarreling  over  a  bit  of  slate- 
pencil.     The  flowers  don't  belong  to  me." 

"  It  may  be  childish,  and  very  ridiculous,  to  you ;  but  it  isn't 
quite  so  to  me.  However,  I  will  wait  for  that  flower.  Perhaps 
you  will  give  it  to  me  some  day." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  to  tease  me  until  I  do  ?" 

"  If  I  thought  that  would  get  it  for  me,  I  would." 

"  I  have  heard  of  girls  being  teased  into  an  engagement — giv- 
ing in  through  sheer  weariness.  I  think  it  is  rather  dangerous. 
I  should  fancy  the  man  would  take  his  revenge  out  after  the  mar- 
riage ;  for  of  course  he  would  look  on  her  previous  disinclination 
as  mere  perversity." 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  the  chance,"  he  said,  with  a  bright 
look  on  his  face.     "  You  would  see  what  revenge  I  should  take." 

The  aspiration  was  an  honest  one.  Young  Miller  had  a  fair 
and  moderate  notion  of  his  own  merits.  He  knew  he  could  not 
paint  fine  pictures  of  his  sweetheart,  or  write  poetry  about  her,  or 
do  any  thing  particularly  romantic  or  imaginative ;  but  he  had 
heard  in  his  time  of  these  dilettante  fellows  marrying  the  objects 
of  their  adoration  only  to  neglect  them  for  flirtations  with  other 
women.  He,  now,  was  a  plain  and  practical  person  ;  but  he  could 
assure  his  wife  an  honest  and  attentive  husband,  who  would  work 
hard  for  her,  and  see  that  she  lived  in  good  style.  If  he  only 
had  the  chance,  as  he  said,  Violet  would  see  what  a  husband  he 
would  make. 

Unfortunately  this  remark  of  his  only  alarmed  her.  It  seemed 
as  though,  whatever  she  might  say  to  him,  the  conversation  always 
led  up  to  this  one  point ;  and  the  girl  naturally  blamed  herself  for 
so  "encouraging"  him.  She  immediately  became  rather  reserved 
in  manner,  and  insisted  on  going  off  in  search  of  her  friends. 


148  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

They  found  them  easily  enough ;  but,  in  strolling  about  the 
grounds,  Mr.  Miller  had  plenty  of  opportunities  of  talking  to 
Violet  by  herself. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  the  Royal  Academy  conversa- 
zione ?"  said  he. 

"Would  it  be  making  an  appointment  if  I  said  I  was?"  she 
asked,  with  gentle  malice. 

"  No,  it  would  not ;  for  I  haven't  got  a  card." 

"  Then  I  am  going.  Lady  North  will  take  Anatolia  and  me ; 
papa  doesn't  care  about  it." 

"  I  should  like  to  go,"  young  Miller  said,  wistfully.  "  I  sup- 
pose Mr.  Drummond  would  let  me  have  his  card  for  once  ?" 

"  I  hope  you  won't  ask  him,"  said  Violet,  sharply. 

"Why  not?"  he  said,  innocently.  "It  is  no  novelty  to  him. 
He  knows  all  those  artist-fellows.  What  is  a  conversazione  more 
or  less  to  him  ?  He  does  not  go  to  one-fifth  of  the  places  he  is 
asked  to." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  demand  such  a  favor,"  she  said.  "  Be- 
sides, the  cards  are  sent  to  particular  people ;  they  are  not  to  be 
bandied  about  like  that.  And  I  know  that  Mr.  Drummond  is 
going." 

"  Oh,  you  know  he  is  going  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  I  know  he  would  give  the  card  to  any  body  who 
asked  him — if  that  is  allowed :  so  I  hope  you  won't  ask  him." 

"  You  seem  very  anxious  to  see  him." 

"Yes,  I  am — at  least,  not  anxious;  but,  of  course,  I  hope  to 
sec  him." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  carelessly,  "  I  can  easily  get  a  card, 
if  I  want  to  go,  without  asking  Mr.  Drummond.  I  know  a  two- 
penny-half-penny sort  of  fellow  called  Lavender,  who  is  good  at 
every  thing  but  earning  a  farthing  of  his  own  money,  and  he 
will  get  me  a  card.  I  suppose  a  hundred  will  go  to  look  at  the 
princes,  and  one  to  look  at  the  pictures." 

"  Then,  I  hope  you  will  be  that  one,"  said  Violet,  sweetly. 

"  You  know  what  I  shall  go  for,"  lie  said ;  and  she  turned  away 
at  that :  the  conversation  had  again  led  up  to  one  of  those  awk- 
ward climaxes,  which  seemed  to  pledge  her  more  and  more,  how- 
ever definitely  she  protested. 

So  the  days  went  by  at  this  time ;  the  young  man  paying  her 
very  nearly  as  much  attention  as  though  an  engagement  had  ex- 


MISTAKEN    GUESSES.  149 

istcd  between  them ;  she  secretly  fearing,  and  yet  sheltering  her- 
self behind  repeated  explanations  that  she  was  absolutely  free, 
and  unprejudiced  by  any  of  his  hopes  and  aspirations.  Occasion- 
ally, of  course,  she  could  not  help  being  kind  to  him ;  for  she 
really  liked  him ;  and  his  patient  devotion  to  her  moved  her  pity. 
Many  a  time  she  wished  he  would  go ;  and  then  she  hesitated  to 
inflict  on  him  the  pain  of  dismissal.  It  was  altogether  a  danger- 
ous position. 

The  days  going  by,  too,  were  gradually  bringing  the  London 
season  to  an  end ;  and  people  were  talking  of  their  autumn  tours. 
Violet  had  not  ventured  to  ask  Lady  North  to  let  her  accompany 
Mrs.  Warrener  to  the  Highlands ;  but  she  had  spoken  about  this 
trip,  and  hinted  that  she  would  rather  be  going  thither  than  to 
Venice.  Mrs.  Warrener  had  not  ceased  to  entreat  her  to  come 
with  them. 

One  bright  forenoon  a  pair  of  small  grays  were  being  driven 
briskly  up  Camberwell  Grove  by  a  young  lady,  who  seemed 
pleased  enough  with  her  task.  It  wras  a  fresh,  clear  day  in  July ; 
the  j7ellow  road  ascending  before  her  was  barred  across  by  the 
gray  shadows  of  the  chestnuts ;  here  and  there  a  lime-tree  sweet- 
ened the  air,  for  there  had  been  rain  in  the  morning.  Her  only 
companion  was  the  man  behind,  who  was  doing  his  best  to  watch 
over  a  number  of  potted  fuchsias,  which  gave  him  the  appearance 
of  being  an  elderly  cupid  in  a  grove  of  flowers.  The  phaeton  was 
pulled  up  at  the  gate  leading  to  a  certain  boarding-school;  and 
the  man,  struggling  out  from  among  the  fuchsias,  jumped  down, 
and  went  to  the  horses'  heads. 

Now,  this  was  rather  a  tall  and  shapely  young  lady  who  went 
into  the  boarding-school ;  and  she  wore  a  tight-sleeved  and  tight- 
fitting  dress  of  chocolate-colored  homespun,  with  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  and  bold  feather  of  the  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  period,  just 
then  coming  into  fashion ;  and  altogether  she  presented  so  fine 
and  commanding  an  appearance  that  the  small  school-mistress, 
on  coming  in,  was  overcome  with  astonishment,  and  could  only 
say, 

"  Oh,  Miss  North  !" 

Yet  Miss  North  was  not  an  apparition  —  at  least,  apparitions 
do  not  ordinarily  shake  one  firmly  by  the  hand,  and  say,  with  a 
bright  smile, 

"  You  remember  me  ?     Have  I  grown  ?     Oh,  Miss  Main,  it  is 


150  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

very  strange  to  call  on  you  ;  for  the  moment  I  came  into  the  hall 
I  fancied  I  was  going  to  be  punished  —  I  suppose  you  remem- 
ber—" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember,"  said  the  school-mistress,  with  a  shrewd 
smile ;  and  yet  she  was  still  puzzled  by  the  alteration  in  this  old 
pupil  of  hers,  and  had  scarcely  the  presence  of  mind  to  ask  her 
to  sit  down. 

"  But  I  thought  I  would  bring  something  to  propitiate  you," 
this  handsome  young  lady  continued,  with  the  greatest  self-pos- 
session and  cheerfulness,  "so  that  you  won't  give  me  twenty 
pages  of  '  Minna  von  Barnhelm '  to  translate.  It  is  some  fuch- 
sias— they  are  outside  :  will  you  please  to  ask  Elizabeth  to  fetch 
them  in  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  so  kind  of  you,  Miss  North,"  said  the  school-mis- 
tress (she  had  not  even  yet  sated  her  wonder  and  curiosity  over 
the  young  lady's  dress  and  appearance  and  manner) ;  "  but  I  sup- 
pose you  don't  know  Elizabeth  has  left  us.  She  left  to  get  mar- 
ried more  than  a  year  ago." 

"  I  thought  she  would,"  said  Miss  North,  calmly.  "  I  used  to 
write  her  love-letters  for  her.  How  much  of  '  Minna  von  Barn- 
helm'  should  I  have  had  to  translate  if  you  had  found  that  out, 
Miss  Main  ?" 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  school-mistress,  frankly,  "  I  think  you  were 
the  wickedest  girl  I  ever  had  in  my  school." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,"  said  Miss  North,  meekly. 

"  But  what  a  change  there  is,  to  be  sure  !  That's  what  I  often 
said — I  often  said  you  would  never  be  brought  under  proper  con- 
trol until  you  were  married — " 

"  But  I  am  not  married  yet,  Miss  Main,"  said  the  young  lady, 
with  heightened  color. 

"  It  will  not  be  long,  then,  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  school-mis- 
tress. 

"  Indeed,  it  will  be  a  very  long  time — it  will  be  always  and  al- 
together," said  Miss  North,  promptly. 

"  You  mean  never  to  get  married  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

After  that,  Miss  Main  thought  she  might  as  well  send  for  the 
fuchsias ;  and  Avhen  the  flowers  were  brought  in,  she  was  greatly 
pleased  by  this  instance  of  friendliness  on  the  part  of  her  old 
pupil,  and  she  would  have  had  her  sit  down,  and  have  some  straw- 


MISTAKEN    GUESSES.  151 

berries  and  cake.  But  Miss  North  could  not  wait  to  partake  of 
these  earthly  joys. 

"  I  am  going  on  at  once  to  Mr.  Drummond's,"  she  said. 

"  Mr.  Drummond  is  not  at  home,"  said  Miss  Main,  hoping  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  showing  Lady  North's  daughter  to  a  later 
generation  of  scholars  ;  "  I  saw  him  pass  here  about  an  hour  ago." 

"I  know,"  said  Violet;  "this  is  the  morning  he  goes  to  that 
society  in  Jermyn  Street.  It  is  Mrs.  Warrener  I  am  going  to 
see." 

So,  with  many  a  friendly  word,  and  promise  to  repeat  the 
visit,  she  got  into  the  phaeton  again  and  drove  on  up  the  hill. 
She  found  Mrs.  Warrener  alone,  as  she  had  expected.  She  took 
off  her  hat  and  put  it  on  the  table.  Then  she  proposed  they 
should  go  out  into  the  garden. 

"For  I  have  something  of  great  importance  to  say  to  you," 
she  said,  solemnly. 

"  Indeed !"  remarked  Mrs.  Warrener,  expecting  to  hear  of  an- 
other quarrel  with  Lady  North. 

"  Oh,  it  is  no  laughing  matter,"  Violet  said  at  once.  "  It  is 
simply  this :   Am  I  or  am  I  not  to  get  engaged  to  Mr.  Miller?" 

"  Violet !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Warrener,  astounded  by  the  girl's  di- 
rect habit  of  speech.  "  You  can  not  be  talking  seriously.  Why 
should  you  ask  such  a  question  of  me  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  no  one  else  to  go  to  for  advice,"  she  answered, 
simply. 

"But  surely  that  is  a  matter  on  which  no  girl  needs  advice. 
It  ought  to  be  determined  by  your  own  feelings." 

"  If  that  were  all,  I  should  have  no  difficulty,"  said  the  young 
lady,  not  without  some  pride  in  her  tone.  "  I  don't  wish  to 
marry  any  body.  I  would  rather  be  free  from  all  the  —  the 
bother  and  persecution — " 

"  Then  why  should  you  suffer  it  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  she,  looking  down,  "  perhaps  you  may  have 
partly  brought  it  on  yourself  by  your  own  carelessness ;  and  you 
don't  wish  to — to  appear — unkind — " 

They  had  now  got  out  into  the  garden. 

"  Violet,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said,  distinctly,  "  this  is  the  question  : 
Do  you  really  care  for  him  ?" 

"  N-no,"  the  girl  stammered. 

"Then  why  not  tell  him  so?" 


152  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"You  can  not  be  going  about  insulting  all  your  friends  in  that 
way." 

"All  your  friends  are  not  asking  you  to  marry  them." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  different  matter,"  said  Violet,  earnestly.  "  He 
does  not  ask  me  to  marry  him — not  at  all.  This  that  he  is  al- 
ways asking  for  is  only  an  engagement ;  and  I  am  not  to  be 
bound  by  it  in  any  way — " 

"  Now,  what  do  you  really  mean  ?"  her  friend  said,  seriously. 
"  Or  what  can  he  mean  by  such  proposals  ?  What  sort  of  an  en- 
gagement is  it  that  binds  him,  and  leaves  you  free  ?  And  what 
sort  of  an  engagement  is  it  that  does  not  promise  marriage !" 

"Well,  that  is  what  he  proposes,"  said  Violet,  doggedly.  "He 
knows  quite  well  that  I  will  not  promise  to  marry  him ;  for  I  do 
not  wish  to  marry  any  body.  And  he  does  not  even  talk  of 
that  now." 

They  walked  about  for  a  bit,  Mrs.  Warrener  saying  nothing. 
At  last  she  said, 

"  I  think  I  see  how  it  is.  The  notion  of  marriage  frightens 
you — or  you  are  too  proud  to  like  the  idea  of  the  submission  and 
surrender  of  marriage  —  and  Mr.  Miller,  being  a  shrewd  young 
man,  has  found  that  out,  so  he  wants  you  to  enter  into  a  vague 
engagement  —  which  will  not  frighten  you,  or  alarm  you  about 
the  loss  of  your  independence ;  and  you  apparently  don't  quite 
know  what  it  means.     Take  care  !" 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  the  girl  said,  quite 
lumibly,  "  you  don't  know  what  I  think  about  these  things,  if  you 
fancy  I  am  so  proud  as  that,  or  that  I  should  like  to  be  always 
independent.  If  I  were  to  marry  any  man,  I  should  like  to  feel 
myself  quite  helpless  beside  him  —  looking  to  him  always  for 
guidance  and  wisdom — I  should  be  his  one  worshiper,  and  every 
thing  he  might  do  would  be  right  to  me.  I  should  be  ashamed 
of  myself  to  even  dream  of  independence.  But  then — but  then — " 
she  added,  with  her  eyes  still  cast  down,  "the  men  you  can  ad- 
mire and  trust  like  that  are  not  often  met  with ;  at  least,  for  my 
part,  I  have  only — " 

"  You  must  have  met  oiuc,  anyway,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with 
a  kindly  smile. 

"Oh  no,  not  necessarily,"  the  girl  said,  almost  with  alarm. 
"  It  is  a  fancy  of  mine :  you  know  the  nonsense  that  gets  into  a 
school-girl's  head." 


MISTAKEN    GUESSES.  153 

Mrs.  Warrcner,  with  such  ability  as  she  possessed,  and  with  a 
wonderful  and  friendly  patience,  was  trying  to  understand  this 
girl  and  her  odd  and  apparently  contradictory  sentiments.  The 
only  key  to  these  that  the  worthy  little  woman  could  find  was 
this:  Here  was  a  proud,  self-willed  girl,  who  had  a  sweetheart 
whom  she  regarded  with  a  more  tender  affection  than  she  cared 
to  disclose.  Like  most  girls,  she  chose  to  be  very  reticent  on 
that  point ;  if  questioned,  she  would  answer  with  a  stammering 
"  N-no."  On  the  other  hand,  the  sweetheart  is  impatient  of  these 
mystifications,  and  wishes  her  to  promise  to  marry  him.  She 
rebels  against  this  pressure  put  upon  her;  probably  treats  him 
with  undeserved  coldness,  but,  all  the  same,  comes  to  a  friend  to 
see  what  the  world  would  think  of  her  entering  into  some  sort 
of  engagement.  She  wishes  some  one  to  tell  her  she  can  enter 
into  this  engagement  without  exposing  herself  to  the  suspicion — 
against  which  she  revolts — that  her  secret  affection  is  stronger 
than  her  pride. 

Such  wras  Mrs.  Warrener's  theory.  It  was  ingenious  enough, 
and  it  was  but  a  natural  deduction  from  what  she  had  seen  of  the 
conduct  of  many  girls  in  similar  circumstances,  only  it  was  alto- 
gether wrong  in  the  case  of  Violet  North,  and  it  was  the  parent 
of  a  terrible  amount  of  mischief. 

"  Violet,"  said  she,  in  her  kindly  way,  "  it  is  no  use  my  advis- 
ing you,  for  a  girl  never  quite  tells  you  what  her  real  feelings  are 
about  a  young  man.  You  said  you  did  not  care  about  Mr. 
Miller—" 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  said  that  I  like  him  very  well,"  she 
said,  looking  down.  "  There  is  no  doubt  about  that.  I  like  him 
far  better  than  any  of  the  young  men  I  have  met,  for  he  is  less 
languid,  and  he  does  not  patronize  you,  and  talk  to  you  as  if  you 
were  a  baby ;  he  is  earnest  and  sincere — and  then,  when  you  sec 
how  anxious  he  is  to  be  kind  to  you — " 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Warren er,  with  some  little  show  of  tri- 
umph, "  I  thought  there  was  something  behind  all  that  reluctance 
of  yours,  Violet.  It  is  the  way  with  all  you  girls.  You  will 
admit  nothing.  You  don't  care  for  any  body.  You  positively 
hate  the  notion  of  being  married.  But,  all  the  same,  you  go  and 
submit  to  be  married,  just  like  your  mothers  before  you,  and 
there  is  an  end  of  pretense  then." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think,  Mrs.  Warrcner,"  said  the  girl,  with 

1* 


154  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

flushed  cheeks,  "  that  I  have  been  asking  you  to  advise  me  to  get 
married  ?" 

"  No,  no,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  gently.  "  You  wouldn't  do 
that.     But  I  think  I  can  see  the  end  of  all  this  hesitation." 

"  What  end,  then  ?" 

"  You  will  marry  Mr.  Miller." 

"  I  am  not  married  to  Mr.  Miller  yet,"  she  said,  almost  coldly  ; 
and  then  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

Another  part  of  her  mission  was  to  deliver  an  invitation  to  her 
two  friends  in  the  South  to  dine  at  Euston  Square  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  Royal  Academy  soiree.  Sir  Acton  would  be  up  in 
Yorkshire ;  perhaps  Mr.  Drummond  would  kindly  assume  the 
guardianship  of  the  small  party  of  ladies.  Mrs.  Warrener  could 
not,  of  course,  answer  for  her  brother,  but  she  was  sure  he  would 
do  any  thing  to  please  Violet. 

Then  the  young  lady  went  her  way.  Why  did  she  drive  so 
fast? — her  mouth  proud  and  firm,  her  figure  erect. 

"I  am  not  married  yet"  —  this  was  what  she  was  saying  to 
herself — "  they  will  have  to  wait  a  little  while  before  they  see  me 
married !" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AMONG    SOME    PICTURES. 


This  almost  seemed  a  small  family  party  that  was  met  round 
Lady  North's  dinner-table ;  and  it  was,  in  any  case,  a  sufficiently 
merry  one.  Mr.  Drummond  was  in  one  of  his  gravely  extrava- 
gant moods ;  and  Lady  North,  following  his  whimsicalities  as  far 
as  her  fancy  permitted,  was  amused,  in  a  fashion,  though  she  was 
very  often  puzzled.  For  who  could  tell  whether  this  bright-eyed 
man,  with  his  discursive  talk,  his  impossible  stories,  his  sham  ad- 
vice, was  in  jest  or  earnest  ?  Violet  was  delighted ;  perhaps  the 
occasional  bewilderment  of  Lady  North  did  not  lessen  her  enjoy- 
ment. 

"  But  did  you  never  hear,"  said  he,  when  his  hostess  was  com- 
plaining seriously  about  the  way  in  which  certain  groceries  or 
other  things  were  adulterated ;  "  did  you  never  hear,  Lady  North, 
of  the  man  who  starved  himself  rather  than  be  cheated?" 


AMONG    SOME    PICTURES.  155 

"  N-no,"  said  she,  with  wide  eyes. 

Violet  smiled  to  herself.  She  knew  there  was  no  such  person. 
There  never  had  been  any  such  person.  He  was  continually  lug- 
ging in  imaginary  men  of  straw,  and  making  them  toss  their  im- 
possible arms  about. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  continued,  calmly;  "he  was  a  very  strict  and 
just  man,  and  he  was  so  indignant  over  the  way  this  tradesman 
and  the  next  tradesman  cheated  him,  that  he  cut  off  the  sup- 
plies, one  after  the  other,  to  revenge  himself  on  them.  First  the 
butcher  went,  because  he  was  always  sending  in  short  measure. 
Then  the  baker  went,  because  of  alum  and  other  tricks.  At  last 
this  man  was  living  on  nothing  but  milk,  when  it  occurred  to  him 
to  have  the  milk  analyzed.  There  was  about  thirty  per  cent,  add- 
ed water  in  it ;  and  that  went  to  his  heart.  His  last  hope  was 
gone.  To  spite  the  milkman,  he  resolved  to  cut  off  the  milk 
too :  and  so  he  shut  himself  up  in  a  room,  and  died ;  his  protest 
could  go  no  farther  than  that.  You  see,  Lady  North,  we  must 
make  up  our  mind  to  be  cheated  a  good  deal ;  and  to  take  it 
with  a  good  temper.  An  equable  temper  is  the  greatest  gift  a 
man  can  possess.  I  suppose  you've  heard  of  the  duke  who  had 
every  thing  he  could  desire,  and  who  died  of  anxiety  ?" 

Violet  nearly  burst  out  laughing  this  time.  Of  course  there 
was  no  such  duke. 

"  Oh  yes ;  he  was  so  afraid  of  having  his  pictures,  and  rare  en- 
gravings, and  old  jewelry  burned,  that  he  set  about  getting  them 
all  in  duplicate ;  and  he  had  a  duplicate  house  built  to  receive 
them.  But  of  course  it  was  no  use.  He  could  not  get  complete 
sets  of  the  engravings ;  and  he  used  to  wander  about  Italian 
towns  searching  for  old  glass  and  jewelry  until  he  grew  to  be  a 
haggard  and  awful  skeleton.  Care  killed  him  in  the  end.  If 
you  keep  brooding  over  all  the  possibilities  of  life,  you  can  not 
avoid  being  miserable.     I  once  knew  a  man — " 

Still  another  ?  Violet  began  to  think  of  the  dozen  "  supers  " 
in  the  theatre,  who  are  marched  round  and  round  the  scenery,  to 
represent  the  ceaseless  procession  of  an  army. 

"  —  who  used  to  be  quite  unhappy  whenever  he  eat  a  her- 
ring ;  for  he  used  to  wonder  whether  a  herring  ever  had  rheuma- 
tism, and  then  he  considered  how  dreadfully  a  herring  must  suf- 
fer in  such  a  case,  from  the  quantity  of  bones  it  had.  But  of 
course  you  can  not  always  command  your  fancies,  and  say  that 


156  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

you  will  be  free  from  anxiety;  and  the  most  helpless  time  I 
know  is  early  in  the  morning,  if  one  has  wakened  prematurely, 
and  can  not  get  to  sleep  again.  Then  a  touch  of  hoarseness  in 
the  throat  conjures  up  visions  of  diphtheria ;  and  if  you  can  not 
recollect  some  trifling  matter,  you  begin  to  look  on  the  lapse  of 
memory  as  a  warning  of  complete  mental  breakdown  and  insani- 
ty. Every  thing  is  bad,  then ;  all  your  affairs  are  going  to  the 
dogs  ;  you  have  offended  your  dearest  friend.  But  at  breakfast- 
time,  don't  you  wonder  how  you  could  have  been  so  foolish  as  to 
vex  yourself  about  nothing?  The  increased  vitality  of  the  sys- 
tem clears  the  brain  of  forebodings.  There  are  other  times,  too, 
in  which  the  imagination  is  stronger  than  the  reason.  I  once 
knew  a  very  learned  man — " 

Another ! 

"  — who  declared  to  me  that  sea-sickness  was  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  a  matter  of  apprehension ;  and  that  he  knew  he  could  argue 
himself  into  a  quiescent  mood  that  would  defy  the  waves.  But 
just  as  wre  were  going  on  board  the  boat,  he  looked  up  and  saw  a 
cloud  sailing  smoothly  along;  and  I  could  see  he  was  thinking 
with  a  great  longing  how  fine  it  would  be  to  lie  down  in  that 
cloud  and  be  taken  quietly  across — " 

"  Was  he  ill  in  crossing  ?"  demanded  the  literal  little  woman  at 
the  head  of  the  table. 

Mr.  Drummond  started.  He  had  conjured  up  the  incident  so 
far,  but  he  knew  nothing  further. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said ;  and  Lady  North  wondered  how  a 
reasonable  person  could  tell  a  story  and  leave  out  its  chief  point 
of  interest. 

That  evening  a  young  man  was  flitting  rather  restlessly  about 
the  entrance  -  hall  of  Burlington  House,  watching  the  successive 
carriages  come  up,  and  the  successive  parties  of  ladies,  with  their 
long  trains  flowing  on  the  stairs,  pass  up  to  have  their  names  an- 
nounced above.  He  kept  looking  at  his  watch ;  then  at  the  next 
carriage  that  came  up  ;  and  was  altogether  restless  and  dissatisfied. 

At  length,  however,  a  particular  carriage  came  rolling  into  the 
court-yard,  and  he  swiftly  went  down  the  broad  stone  steps.  He 
himself  opened  the  door.  "Who  was  the  first  to  step  out  into  the 
light  ?  A  tall  young  girl,  who  had  apparently  had  her  dress  design- 
ed by  an  artist,  for  it  was  all  of  a  radiant  lemon-yellow  silk,  the 
sleeves  alone,  near  the  shoulder,  being  slashed  with  black  velvet ; 


AMONG    SOME    PICTURES.  157 

while  in  her  jet-black  masses  of  hair  were  intertwined  leaves  and 
blossoms  of  the  yellow-white  jessamine.     She  looked  surprised. 

"  Then  you  have  come,  after  all  ?"  she  said,  when  he  was  assist- 
ing her  three  companions  out  of  the  carriage. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  adding,  "  How  fortunate  I  should  meet  you 
here,  Lady  North  !     You  have  no  one  with  you  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Lady  North.  "  Mr.  Drummond  is  coming  di- 
rectly, in  a  hansom." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  in,"  said  the  young  man :  "  he  will 
find  you  readily  enough  when  he  comes." 

"  Oh  no,"  remarked  the  young  lady  with  the  pale-yellow  flowers 
in  her  hair — and  she  spoke  with  some  decision — "  we  shall  wait 
for  him  here.  I  particularly  wish  Mr.  Drummond  to  take  Lady 
North  through  the  people,  because  he  knows  every  one." 

Well,  the  young  man  had  no  objection  to  that ;  for,  of  course, 
he  would  be  left  in  charge  of  the  others.  Then  Mr.  Drummond 
came  up,  light-hearted,  buoyant,  and  careless ;  and  indeed  it  seem- 
ed to  the  younger  man  that  this  tall  and  good-humored  person, 
when  he  undertook  to  escort  a  party  of  ladies  to  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy conversazione,  might  at  least  have  taken  the  trouble  to  tie  his 
neck-tie  a  little  more  accurately. 

They  passed  up  the  stairs.  They  caught  a  glimpse  of  many 
faces  and  bright  lights.  Their  names  were  announced ;  Sir  Fran- 
cis, standing  near  the  door,  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Drummond  as 
with  an  old  friend ;  they  made  their  way  along  the  narrow  lane 
that  had  been  formed  by  people  curious  to  see  the  new  arrivals. 
"Which  of  this  party  attracted  most  attention  ?  Mrs.  Warrener, 
who  was  by  the  side  of  Violet,  knew  well — whether  or  not  the 
girl  herself  was  aware — how  all  eyes  followed  her  as  she  passed. 

If  she  was  aware  of  it,  she  was  not  much  embarrassed.  They 
had  scarcely  got  well  into  the  miscellaneous  crowd  when  she  sud- 
denly caught  her  companion's  arm. 

"Listen!" 

Thei-e  was  a  sound  of  soft  and  harmonious  music,  the  deep 
voices  of  men,  and  the  playing  of  instruments ;  and  then  high 
above  that,  rising  as  it  were  to  the  vaulted  roof,  the  clear  singing 
of  boys — singing  as  with  the  one  strong,  high,  and  sweet  voice  of 
a  woman. 

"  Where  are  they  singing  ?"  Violet  asked ;  and  then  she  led  her 
companion  to  the  central  hall,  where,  with  all  manner  of  busts 


158  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

and  figures  looking  strangely  down  on  them,  the  crowd  stood  in  a 
circle  round  the  Artillery  band,  the  boys  in  the  centre.  By  this 
time  Violet  and  her  companion  had  got  separated  from  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  and  Lady  North ;  Mr.  George  Miller  was  paying  compulso- 
ry attention  to  his  friend  Anatolia. 

But  this  division  of  the  party  did  not  last,  of  course,  the  whole 
evening.  Its  various  members  met  and  parted  in  new  combina- 
tions, as  various  objects  of  attraction  suggested ;  this  one  lost  in 
admiration  of  the  music ;  the  other  fascinated  by  particular  cos- 
tumes ;  a  third  anxious  that  every  body  should  see  his  or  her  fa- 
vorite picture.  On  one  of  these  occasions  Mr.  Drummond  and 
Violet  together  happened  to  be  looking  at  a  picture  based  on  the 
tragic  death  of  Helen  of  Kirkconnell. 

It  is  now  two  or  three  years  since  this  picture  was  exhibited, 
and  I  must  not  hazard  overpraise  of  its  merits  ;  but,  at  all  events, 
it  endeavored  to  give  visible  form  to  what  (as  it  seems  to  some  of 
us)  is  the  most  passionate  and  pathetic  utterance  of  human  emo- 
tion in  all  modern  literature — if  this  wild,  sharp  cry  of  anguish  is 
to  be  called  literature.  Moreover,  it  dealt  only  with  one  episode 
in  the  brief  tragedy,  where  Helen  of  Kirkconnell — Burd  Helen  she 
is  called  in  some  of  the  versions — is  walking  with  her  lover  in  the 
evening,  and  suddenly  throws  herself  before  him  to  receive  the 
death-shot  fired  at  him  by  his  rejected  rival :  it  does  not  deal  with 
the  fiercer  portion  that  follows. 

"  Oh  think  na  but  my  heart  was  sair  " 

— this  is  the  pathetic  introduction  to  the  wild,  glad  deed  of 
vengeance — 

"When  my  love  fell  and  spake  nae  mair; 
I  laid  her  down  wi'  meikle  care, 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

"  I  laid  her  down  :  my  sword  did  draw, 
Stern  was  our  fight  by  Kirtleshaw  : 
I  hewed  him  down  in  pieces  s>7ia\ 

For  her  that  died  for  me." 

"  It  is  a  sad  story,"  Drummond  said,  absently,  when  lie  had 
told  it  to  her. 

"  I  do  not  think  that,"  she  answered,  quickly  ;  and  he  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  her  face  was  quite  pale,  and  her  dark  eyes  full 


AMONG    SOME    PICTURES.  159 

of  tears.  "  I  think  these  are  the  two  very  happiest  people  I  ever 
heard  of  in  the  world." 

She  stopped  for  a  moment :  he  dared  not  look,  for  he  guessed 
that  the  proud  lips  were  trembling. 

"Don't  you?"  she  said,  boldly.  "A  woman  who  is  able  to  die 
for  the  man  she  loves,  a  man  who  has  the  delight  of  killing  the 
man  who  slew  his  sweetheart:  I  think  they  have  had  every  thing 
that  life  can  give.  But — but  that  was  in  the  old  time ;  there  is 
no  more  of  that  now ;  when  people  care  for  each  other  now,  it  is 
a  very  gentle  affection,  and  they  are  more  concerned  about  having 
a  good  income,  and  being  able  to  drive  in  the  Park — " 

"  But  people  who  drive  in  the  Park  may  love  each  other,"  he 
said. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  said,  and  then  she  abruptly  turned 
away. 

Mr.  George  Miller  came  up. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  and  tender  voice,  "  do  come  over 
here  and  look  at  this  picture.     I  think  it  is  awfully  good." 

She  crossed  the  room,  proudly  and  silently.  Mr.  Miller  led  her 
to  a  very  nice  and  pleasing  composition,  which  had  rather  won 
upon  his  heart,  and  which — who  knows  ? — he  may  have  thought 
would  have  a  similar  influence  on  her.  It  represented  a  quiet 
nook  on  the  Thames,  with  a  long  pleasure-boat  moored  in  at  the 
roots  of  the  trees,  and  in  the  boat  were  two  very  pretty  young 
ladies  and  a  good-looking  young  fellow — he  was  not  unlike  Miller 
himself — in  boating-flannels  and  a  straw  hat.  The  picture  was 
called  "  Meditation."  There  was  a  luncheon-basket,  half  opened, 
in  the  stern  of  the  boat. 

"  Now,  that  is  what  I  call  real  life,"  said  Mr.  Miller.  "  That  is 
the  sort  of  thing  you  actually  see.  Just  look  at  that  swan ;  you 
would  think  he  was  going  to  open  his  mouth  for  a  biscuit." 

"  That  is  the  sort  of  picture  I  hate,"  she  said,  with  unnecessary 
vehemence ;  and  he  was  considerably  startled ;  "  and  I  hate  the 
people  quite  as  much  who  could  live  such  a  trivial,  dawdling,  pur- 
poseless sort  of  life.  I  wonder  what  they  are  meditating  on ! 
Very  pretty  meditations  they  are  likely  to  have !  On  the  advisa- 
bility of  eating  lobster  -  salad  ?  On  the  sweet  poetry  the  curate 
quoted  on  Sunday  ?  On  the  chances  of  their  winning  gloves  at 
Goodwood?  And  as  for  him,  a  tailor's  window  would  be  the 
most  suitable  place  in  the  world  for  him," 


ICO  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

He  was  astounded  by  this  outburst;  he  could  not  understand 
what  it  meant. 

"  You  are  rather  savage  to-night,"  said  he,  coldly.  "  I  don't  see 
that  the  man  has  done  you  any  harm  by  painting  a  pretty  picture." 

"  I  detest  such  pictures." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  look  at  them,  if  they  offend  you." 

"  I  must  look  at  them  when  I  am  asked  to  do  so,  and  when  I 
am  told  that  they  are  beautiful." 

This  was  rather  a  cruel  remark;  but  Mr.  Miller  unexpectedly 
showed  good-nature. 

"  Well,  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  said  he,  pleasantly. 
"  I  like  pictures  like  that,  because  I  understand  them.  They  are 
the  sort  of  thing  that  one  sees  in  real  life.  Now,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  the  solemn  and  mysterious  business — an  ugly  woman  with 
her  face  painted  against  a  green  sky — is  very  fine;  but  I  can't 
see  the  beauty  of  ugliness  myself." 

"  Where  is  Lady  North,  do  you  know  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  saw  her  go  into  the  next  room  a  minute  ago,"  he  answered. 

Now,  if  Violet  had  been  put  out  of  temper  by  being  asked  to 
look  at  a  very  harmless  and  innocent  picture,  she  was  restored, 
not  only  to  her  usual  serenity,  but  to  a  quite  abundant  gracious- 
ness,  by  the  news  she  heard  when  she  again  encountered  her  step- 
mother. 

"Violet,"  said  the  little  woman,  "Mr.  Drummond  has  been 
pressing  me  very  hard  to  let  you  go  with  his  sister  and  himself 
to  Scotland.     Would  you  like  to  go  ?" 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  go." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  any  objection,"  Lady  North  said,  "  except 
that  it  is  rather  presuming  on  their  hospitality — " 

"  Ah,  they  don't  think  of  such  things,"  said  Violet,  quickly. 

"  They  are  not  very  rich,  you  know." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  the  girl  said,  rather  proudly.  "  It  is  because 
they  are  not  rich  that  they  are  generous  and  kind  to  every  one ; 
they  have  not  a  thought  about  money — " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Lady  North,  "  they  seem,  in  any  case,  to  be 
very  kindly  disposed  toward  you ;  and  you  must  go  and  thank 
them  now  for  the  invitation.  There  is  Mr.  Drummond  over  in 
the  corner." 

"I  —  would — rather  go  to  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  Violet,  with 
some  hesitation.     "  Where  has  she  gone  with  Anatolia  ?" 


AMONG    SOME    PICTURES.  1G1 

Lady  North  was  in  all  simplicity  surprised  to  sec  the  effect  of 
this  concession  of  hers  on  Violet's  friends.  Was  it  really  possi- 
ble that  they  could  so  much  enjoy  her  society  ?  They  seemed  to 
be  quite  grateful  to  her  for  allowing  Violet  to  go  with  them ; 
whereas  she  herself  had  been  looking  forward  with  very  consid- 
erable anxiety  to  the  necessity  of  taking  that  young  lady  to  Ita- 
ly. It  was  well,  she  thought,  in  any  case,  that  the  girl  had  taken 
this  fancy  for  people  who  did  appear  to  have  some  control  over 
her. 

Naturally  enough,  when  all  the  splendor  of  the  evening  was 
over,  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  rooms  exchanged  for  the  rainy 
squalor  of  the  streets,  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  sister,  who  went 
home  in  a  cab,  had  much  to  say  about  this  visit  to  the  North,  and 
Violet's  going  with  them.  After  they  got  home,  too,  they  kept 
chatting  on  about  this  subject ;  the  time  running  away  unheeded. 
James  Drummond  seemed  highly  pleased  about  the  whole  ar- 
rangement ;  and  he  was  already  painting  all  sorts  of  imaginative 
pictures  of  Violet's  experiences  of  Highland  lochs,  moors,  sunsets, 
and  wild  seas. 

"And  then,"  said  his  sister,  "  we  must  ask  Mr.  Miller  up  for  a 
time." 

"  Oh,  certainly." 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  I  must  get  over  my  objection 
to  that  young  man  marrying  Violet." 

He  raised  his  eyes  quickly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  good-natured  shrug,  "  I  believe 
it  is  inevitable  now.  Either  they  are  engaged,  or  about  to  be  en- 
gaged." 

A  quick  look  of  pain — so  sharp  and  rapid  that  she  did  not  no- 
tice it — passed  over  his  face. 

"  Has  she  told  you  so  ?"  he  said,  calmly. 

"  No ;  but  she  came  to  ask  my  advice  about  it  the  other  day ; 
and  she  talked  just  as  a  girl  always  talks  in  these  circumstances 
— pretending  to  care  nothing  for  him — treating  his  advances  as 
tiresome — and  yet  showing  you  quite  clearly  that  she  would  be 
very  much  disgusted  if  he  took  her  at  her  word." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  told  her  to  be  governed  by  her  own  feelings." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  absently ;  and  he  seemed  to  be  deep- 


1G2  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

ly  occupied  in  balancing  a  paper-knife  on  its  edge.  "  I  am  glad 
her  people  know  of  Miller's  expectations ;  that  relieves  us  from 
responsibility.  It  will  be  a  pretty  spectacle — these  two  young 
folks  in  the  holiday-time  of  their  youth  enjoying  themselves  up 
there  in  the  Highlands." 

"  I  wish  she  had  chosen  somebody  else,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said, 
ruefully.  "  I  suppose  he  is  a  good  match ;  and  he  is  very  fond 
of  her ;  but  he  is  so  dreadfully  like  every  other  young  man." 

"  You  must  wait  and  see,  Sarah,"  her  brother  said,  gently. 
"  Give  him  time." 

"  I  would  give  him  every  thing  else  in  the  world — except  our 
Violet,"  she  said.  "  However,  if  young  people  were  quite  sensi- 
ble, they  would  always  be  finding  out  defects  in  each  other,  and 
they  would  never  get  married  at  all.  He  is  a  very  well-inten- 
tioned young  man :  I  think  if  you  advised  him  to  become  a  Bud- 
dhist, he  would  try.  "We  shall  see  what  influence  Violet  will  have 
on  him ;  perhaps  she  will  conjure  up  something  in  him  a  little 
more  out  of  the  commonplace." 

She  bid  him  good-night  now — though  it  was  very  near  morn- 
ing— and  left  him  alone.  He  sat  there,  lying  back  in  his  easy- 
chair,  with  his  ordinarily  ■  quick  and  piercing  eyes  grown  vague 
and  distant,  as  if  they  were  trying  to  make  some  mystic  Avords 
out  of  the  meaningless  symbols  on  the  wall-paper.  The  clock  on 
the  mantel -piece  ticked  gently,  the  slow  progress  of  the  hands 
being  unheeded. 

He  rose,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  been  in  a  dream,  and 
looked  round.  His  attention  was  caught  by  bars  of  blue  appear- 
ing through  the  yellow  shutters  of  the  window ;  the  new  day  was 
drawing  near  outside ;  almost  mechanically  he  passed  round  into 
the  hall,  took  his  hat,  and  let  himself  quietly  out. 

How  still  it  was  in  the  half-revealed  darkness !  Only  the  top- 
most leaves  of  the  tall  poplars,  far  away  up  there  in  the  blue  gray, 
seemed  to  be  having  a  low  and  rustling  talk  together  ;  down  here, 
amidst  the  darker  foliage  of  the  chestnuts,  all  was  silence. 

He  walked  on,  quietly  and  aimlessly,  past  the  voiceless  houses 
and  the  gardens.  Suddenly  a  sound  made  his  heart  leap  :  it  was 
only  a  thrush  that  had  burst  asunder  the  spell  of  the  night  with 
the  first  notes  of  its  morning  song.  And  now  there  was  a  more 
perceptible  light  in  the  sky ;  and  the  stars  were  gone  ;  and  at  last 
there  appeared  a  strange  violet  color,  tinted  with  rose,  that  shone 


AMONG    SOME    PICTURES.  163 

on  the  windows  of  the  eastward-looking  houses.  The  dawn  had 
come — after  the  rain  of  the  night — clear,  and  coldly  roseate,  and 
still. 

"  So  the  new  days  come,"  he  was  thinking  to  himself,  "  and 
the  years  slip  by,  and  God  takes  away  our  youth  before  we  know 
that  we  have  it.  And  if  all  the  imaginative  longing  of  youth — 
that  seeks  satisfaction  in  the  melancholy  of  the  twilight  and  in 
the  murmur  of  the  sea,  and  does  not  find  it  there,  but  must  have 
some  human  object  of  sympathy — if  that  romantic  wistfulness  of 
youth  clings  around  the  form  of  a  young  girl,  and  endows  her 
with  all  the  poetry  of  early  years,  can  it  ever  be  repeated  again  ? 
Love  may  come  again,  and  love  of  a  stronger,  and  purer,  and  less 
selfish  kind;  but  the  wonder — perhaps  not!  and  so  I  imagine 
that  the  old  mystery  of  first  love  never  quite  goes  even  when  the 
love  goes,  and  that  in  after-years  some  sudden  view  of  the  sea 
or  a  new  sweet  scent  in  the  air  will  bring  back  a  throb  of  one's 
twentieth  year  and  all  the  half-forgotten  dreams.  But  if  a  man 
knows  all  that,  and  has  missed  it,  can  he  have  even  a  glimpse  of 
it  in  later  life?  There  are  some  of  us  who  have  had  no  youth — 
only  hours,  and  days,  and  years;  the  wonder-time  of  love  has  nev- 
er reached  us;  and  we  have  learned  physiology  instead.  I  sup- 
pose all  that  must  go.  We  can  see  the  pretty  pictures  that  young 
love  makes ;  we  can  smile  sadly  at  its  unreasonable  caprice,  its 
wild  follies,  its  anger,  and  tears  of  repentance.  Happy  youth, 
that  knows  not  its  own  happiness — that  wrould  impatiently  cur- 
tail the  wonder-time — that  is  so  eager  after  enjoyment  that  rose- 
leaves  are  dashed  down  of  roses  that  will  never  bloom  again. 
But,  after  all,  to  live  is  to  live ;  and  it  is  only  those  who  are  out- 
side and  apart,  who  are  but  spectators  of  the  youth  of  others, 
who  know  how  youth  should  be  spent,  and  how  grateful  it  should 
be  for  God's  chiefest  gifts." 

He  was  neither  sorrowful  nor  envious,  to  all  appearance,  as  lie 
walked  on  and  communed  with  himself,  listening  to  the  full  chorus 
of  the  now  awakened  birds,  and  watching  the  growing  glory  of 
the  sunlight  come  over  the  green  and  rain-washed  foliage  of  the 
trees.  The  tall,  thin  man,  who  stooped  a  little,  and  who  walked 
briskly  along,  with  one  hand  in  his  trousers  -  pocket,  sometimes 
whistled  absently  as  he  went ;  and  he  had  a  quick  attention  for  the 
Hying  birds,  and  the  growing  light,  and  the  stirring  of  the  leaves. 
lie  was  all  by  himself  in  the  newly  awakened  world ;  not  another 


164  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

human  being  was  abroad  And  when  he  had  tired  himself  out 
with  his  walk,  he  returned  home  with  something  of  gladness  in 
his  worn  face ;  for  it  almost  seemed  as  if  he  had  got  rid  of  cer- 
tain mournful  fancies,  and  had  resigned  himself  to  the  actual  and 
sufficiently  happy  life  of  the  new  day  —  the  new  day  that  was 
now  shining  over  the  plains  where  the  cattle  stood,  and  over  the 
orchards  and  farm-steads,  and  over  the  glad  blue  seas  all  breaking 
in  white  foam  around  our  English  shores. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

FROM    NORTH    TO    SOUTH. 


The  pronunciation  of  the  word  allegro  is  not  a  matter  of  very 
grave  moment.  A  man  may  make  a  mistake  about  it  and  never- 
theless be  a  good  Christian  and  a  loyal  subject.  All  the  same,  it 
was  this  trifling  affair  of  a  wrong  accent  that  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly changed  the  whole  course  of  Miss  Violet  North's  life. 

The  girl  had  an  impatience  of  pretense  of  all  kinds  which  she 
carried  to  an  extreme.  While  she  was  at  Miss  Main's  school  not 
one  of  the  girls  dared  to  wear  a  bit  of  sham  jewelry.  Now,  Lady 
North  was  not  a  highly  accomplished  woman,  and,  like  most  per- 
sons of  imperfect  education,  she  had  the  habit  of  adorning  her 
talk  with  scraps  of  languages  with  which  she  was  but  scantily  ac- 
quainted. The  resentment  of  Violet  North  against  this  species 
of  affectation  was  implacable.  It  was  no  use  telling  her  that  hu- 
man nature  had  developed  more  deadly  crimes  than  that.  It  was 
no  use  urging  that  the  difference  between  allegro  and  allegro  was 
not  a  matter  to  keep  one  awake  o'  nights. 

"  Why  should  she  use  the  word  at  all  ?  Why  should  she  pre- 
tend to  know  a  language  that  she  doesn't  know  ?  I  hate  the 
meanness  of  that  perpetual  shamming !" 

And  of  course  Lady  North,  again  like  most  imperfectly  edu- 
cated persons,  was  deeply  incensed  when  she  was  corrected ;  and 
out  of  this  small  matter — a  long  e  or  a  short  e — sprung  up  a  quar- 
rel which  pointed  to  but  one  conclusion.  The  hollow  truce  was 
broken.     Step-mother  and  step-daughter  could  not  remain  in  the 


FROM  NOKTH  TO  SOUTH.  165 

same  house.  Neither  wished  it,  so  it  remained  for  Sir  Acton 
North  to  say  what  was  to  be  done. 

Sir  Acton  was,  as  usual,  quite  submissive.  He  could  not  under- 
stand why  two  women  should  quarrel  over  an  Italian  word ;  but, 
then,  he  had  long  ago  given  up  the  hope  of  understanding  any 
thing  about  women.  He  asked  his  wife  what  she  wanted  him 
to  do  about  Violet ;  Lady  North  refused  to  intermeddle  in  that 
young  lady's  affairs  in  any  way  whatsoever.  He  went  to  Violet 
herself,  who  told  him  that  she  did  not  care  what  happened  to  her 
so  long  as  she  got  out  of  the  house.  She  also  hinted  that  she 
was  quite  able  to  earn  her  own  living,  at  which  Sir  Acton  laughed, 
and  went  away  not  much  enlightened. 

In  this  extremity  he  bethought  himself  of  that  small  household 
on  the  south  of  the  river,  in  which  Violet  had  often  taken  refuge, 
as  if  it  were  her  natural  home ;  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  as 
Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  brother  had  been  good  enough  to  offer  to 
take  Violet  with  them  for  their  autumn  holidays,  they  might  per- 
haps be  inclined  to  extend  their  hospitality  farther,  provided  that 
some  proper  recompense  were  made  them.  Violet,  he  knew, 
would  be  amply  satisfied  with  that  arrangement ;  and  it  was  an 
arrangement,  moreover,  which  could  only  be  but  temporary,  for, 
of  course,  the  girl  was  sure  to  marry. 

Sir  Acton  found  Mr.  Drummond  busily  engaged  in  greasing  a 
pair  of  enormously  thick  shooting-boots,  while  a  pair  of  very  old 
leather  leggings  lay  beside  him  on  the  table  of  the  small  dining- 
room. 

"  I  can't  shake  hands  with  you,  sir,"  said  lie,  laying  down  his 
wooden  pipe.  "  You  see,  we  are  just  preparing  for  onr  plunge 
into  an  absolutely  savage  life ;  and  you  never  can  trust  any  body 
to  grease  your  boots  but  yourself.  I  hope  Miss  Violet  quite  un- 
derstands the  sort  of  life  she  will  lead  when  she  comes  Avith  us  ?" 

"  It  was  about  her  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Drummond," 
said  Miss  Violet's  father;  and  then  he  sat  down  and  told  Mr. 
Drummond  the  whole  story,  as  well  as  he  could  make  it  out. 

This  was  a  delicate  mission  on  which  Sir  Acton  had  come,  and 
several  times  he  seemed  rather  embarrassed,  but  the  quick,  direct 
speech  of  Mr.  Drummond  helped  him  on. 

"Do  I  understand  you,  then,  that  Violet  is  without  a  home?" 

"  She  has  none  in  prospect — that  is  to  say,  of  course  we  could 
arrange  about  her  staying  with  some  one — " 


166  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"She  can  always  have  a  home  here,  and  a  hearty  welcome. 
My  sister  will  assure  her  of  that." 

"  I  expected  you  would  say  as  much ;  the  girl  is  indeed  fort- 
unate in  having  such  friends,"  said  Sir  Acton,  who  was  really 
touched  with  the  frank,  unhesitating  way  in  which  the  offer  was 
made ;  "  and  I  will  confess  that  I  had  some  notion  of  this  when 
I  came  over  to  see  you.  Still,  it  is  an  awkward  thing  for  one 
man  to  ask  another  man  to  take  his  daughter  off  his  hands — " 

"Don't  speak  about  that.  If  Violet  will  come  and  live  with 
us,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  her.  Of  course,  she  knows  what  she 
must  expect.  We  are  very  plain-living  folk,  and  we  are  not  rich 
enough  to  alter  our  ways  in  entertaining  a  guest,  although  we 
should  like  to  do  that." 

"  I  don't  think  she  has  found  your  ways  unsuited  to  her,"  her 
father  said,  with  a  smile,  "  to  judge  by  the  readiness  with  which 
she  always  comes  here.  No,  she  has  more  sense  than  that ;  there 
is  nothing  of  the  petted  child  about  her.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
Mr.  Drummond,"  continued  Violet's  father,  with  obvious  embar- 
rassment, "you- will  forgive  me  if  I  suggest  that — that  the  obli- 
gation you  put  me  under  would  be  too  great  if  you  did  not  allow 
me  to  make  you — some  recompense ;  a  sum  might  be  stated — " 

He  was  in  great  dread  of  offending  this  shy,  capricious,  strange 
man,  and  he  was  greatly  relieved  to  find  Mr.  Drummond,  instead 
of  drawing  himself  up  and  looking  hurt,  breaking  out  into  a 
hearty  laugh. 

"  No,  no,  Sir  Acton,  we  don't  take  in  boarders ;  and  to  think 
of  our  being  paid  for  having  Violet  North  come  to  live  with  us ! 
But  I  must  tell  Sarah  about  it:  excuse  me  for  one  second,  Sir 
Acton." 

Off  he  went,  leaving  the  worthy  and  practical-minded  baronet 
very  much  puzzled.  It  was  true,  he  knew,  that  Mr.  Drummond 
was  a  gentleman ;  but  was  he  not  also  very  poor  ?  and  had  not 
the  offer  been  made  with  great  delicacy?  and  surely  it  wras  most 
unreasonable  that  this  family  should  bear  the  expense  of  support- 
ing a  rich  man's  daughter.  His  sister  returned  with  him.  They 
were  both  of  them  apparently  greatly  delighted  over  this  proba- 
ble addition  to  their  household.  When  would  she  come  over? 
Would  he  remember  to  remind  her  of  her  music  ?  Ought  Mrs. 
Warrener  to  come  and  help  her  to  move  her  small  belongings? 
And  would  he  make  her  promise  before  she  left  not  to  do  all 


FROM  NORTH  TO  SOUTH.  167 

Amy  Warrener's  lessons  for  her,  seeing  that  that  young  lady  had 
now  got  out  of  her  child-period  ? 

Sir  Acton  North  began  to  wonder  less  over  his  daughter's  lik- 
ing for  this  quiet  little  house  and  its  occupants.  There  was  a 
wonderful  sense  of  homeliness  about  the  place,  and  a  bright,  hu- 
morous frankness  about  this  tall  lounging  man  and  his  gentle  sis- 
ter. But,  before  Sir  Acton  left,  Mr.  Drummond  took  him  aside, 
and  said  to  him,  with  more  seriousness, 

"  There  is  one  point,  sir,  about  which  we  ought  to  have  a  clear 
understanding  before  your  daughter  comes  over  to  live  with  us. 
I  believe  that  that  young  fellow  Miller  is,  in  a  fashion,  paying  his 
addresses  to  her.     That  is  with  your  sanction,  I  presume  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Sir  Acton,  rather  staggered  by  the  directness 
of  the  question,  and  also  by  the  calm,  observant  look  of  those 
singularly  bright  and  intelligent  eyes.  "  The  young  man  saw 
me — that  nonsense  was  all  explained  away — and  indeed  it  was 
a  thoughtless  frolic  that  may  be  forgotten  now.  If  the  girl 
likes  him,  I  see  no  reason  why  they  should  not  marry.  Do 
you  ?" 

"I?"  repeated  Drummond,  almost  with  a  start.  "What  have 
I  to  do  with  it  ?     It  is  her  father  who  must  give  his  consent." 

"Do  you  know  any  thing  against  the  young  man?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,"  was  the  hearty  answer. 

"  Well,  then,  he  is  a  fairly  shrewd,  practical-headed  young  fel- 
low ;  he  will  have  quite  enough  money ;  his  family  is  respectable 
— I  really  don't  see  any  objection." 

"  That  is  very  well,  Sir  Acton.  I  merely  wished  to  be  entirely 
clear  from  all  responsibility — " 

"  Mind  you,  my  dear  sir,"  broke  in  Sir  Acton,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  remembered  something,  "  don't  imagine  that  I  am  anx- 
ious to  get  rid  of  my  daughter — by  marriage  or  otherwise — mere- 
ly because  she  and  her  step-mother  don't  agree.  No,  no  ;  rather 
than  see  her  uncomfortable,  I'd  —  I'd  —  confound  it!  I'd  send 
the  whole  pack  of  'em  flying.  Violet's  a  good  girl — she's  worth 
twenty  dozen — " 

But  here  Sir  Acton  thought  he  had  said  enough. 

"  I  understand  you,  then,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  quite  calm- 
ly, "that  you  have  no  objection  to  Mr.  Miller  meeting  your 
daughter  while  she  is  under  my  care ;  and  if  they  should  engage 
to  marry  each  other,  good  and  well  ?" 


168  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  I  see  no  objection.  But  why  do  you  speak  of  that  as  if  it 
were  something  to  be  feared  ?" 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  am  sure  I  had  no  such  intention." 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Sir  Acton,  at  the  door; 
"you  have  done  me  a  great  kindness;  I  will  try  to  repay  you 
some  day.  Oh,  by-the-way,  I  suppose  I  may  get  a  saloon-carriage 
reserved  for  you  when  you  go  North  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  quietly.  "  We  always 
go  second-class,  and  I  don't  think  Miss  Violet  will  expect  us  to 
alter  our  ordinary  habits." 

Next  day  a  young  lady  burst  into  the  room  where  Mrs.  War- 
rener  was  sitting  sewing,  and  threw  herself  down  on  her  knees, 
and  put  her  hands  in  her  friend's  lap. 

"  And  oh  !  is  it  quite  true  ?  And  am  I  to  live  with  you  al- 
ways ?"  she  cried ;  and  the  fine,  frank,  handsome  face  and  the 
dark  and  eloquent  eyes  were  full  of  joy  and  gratitude. 

"  You  are  to  stay  with  us  as  long  as  you  please,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  much  more  gravely,  as  she  kissed  the  girl. 

Violet  looked  up  quickly,  and  scanned  her  friend's  face. 

"  Are  you  displeased  with  me  ?" 

There  was  a  gentle  hand  laid  on  her  head. 

"  Violet,  you  are  no  longer  a  girl.  You  ought  not  to  give  way 
to  your  temper,  under  whatever  provocation.  And  it  does  not 
look  well  to  see  any  girl  so  glad  to  leave  her  home." 

"  I  have  not  left  my  home,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice,  with 
her  head  bent  down ;  "  I  have  come  to  the  only  home  that  I  ever 
have  had." 

No  woman  could  resist  that  speech ;  there  was  an  arm  round 
her  neck  in  a  moment,  and  she  was  listening  to  many  a  protesta- 
tion that  that  home,  at  least,  should  never  be  wanting  to  her  as 
long  as  she  lived. 

But  the  girl  freed  herself,  and  looked  up  again. 

"And  Mr.  Drummond,"  she  said,  "  what  does  he  think  ?  Does 
he  think  I  have  done  wrong  ?" 

"  Well,  he  regrets  what  has  happened,  of  course,  although  it 
,has  brought  you  to  us.  He  thought  you  had  resolved  to  be  a  lit- 
tle more  patient,  and  gentle,  and  obedient — " 

The  girl  rose  quickly,  turning  her  head  aside ;  but  all  the  same 
her  friend  had  caught  sight  of  the  sudden  tears  that  had  sprung 
to  those  long  black  lashes. 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  169 

"  Violet !" 

"  I  can  go  back." 

"  You  shall  not  go  back,  Violet.     Listen  to  reason — " 

"  Oh  !  you  don't  know — you  don't  know  the  life  I  had  to  lead 
in  that  house,"  the  girl  cried,  passionately,  with  the  tears  running 
down  her  face ;  "  and  you  think  that  I  am  proud  and  ungrateful : 
and  perhaps  you  are  afraid  to  take  me  ?  But  I  am  not  ungrate- 
ful to  those  I  can  love  and  respect — no — you  will  not  find  me 
that ;  and  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  suffer  for  my  real  friends, 
as  you  may  find  out  some  day.  But  I  have  had  no  friends — you 
know  I  have  had  no  friends — but  the  friends  in  this  house ;  and 
what  would  I  not  do  for  them  ?  Only  to  be  in  the  house  with 
you,  I  would  be  a  kitchen  drudge  for  you — indeed,  I  would;  I 
would  work  my  eyes  blind  for  you  :  there  is  no  patience  and 
obedience  you  would  not  have.  But  I  must  respect  and  love  the 
people  whom  I-  serve,  and  then  I  am  ready  to  become  their  slave 
from  morning  till  night — " 

Mrs.  Warrener  strove  to  hush  the  wild,  piteous  words. 

"  You  must  not  take  so  much  to  heart  what  I  said,  Violet," 
she  remonstrated,  gently.  "And  you  won't  have  to  do  all  these 
things  in  order  to  please  your  friends.  Only  be  true  to  your  own 
better  nature,  and  you  will  be  a  constant  delight  to  them." 

The  girl  took  up  her  friend's  hand  and  kissed  it :  then  she  left 
the  room.  Mrs.  Warrener  understood  the  mute  promise  of  obe- 
dience. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CASTLE     BANDBOX,     N.  B. 


The  great  white  mists  of  the  rain  had  lifted ;  and  all  the  world 
behind  stood  revealed — a  strange,  new,  dream-like  world,  color- 
less, still,  its  various  tints  of  gray  shining  with  a  suffused  and 
mystic  light.  The  gray  sea  was  like  glass ;  the  gray  islands  had 
but  a  faint  glimmer  of  green  along  their  shores ;  the  gray  mount- 
ains were  pale  and  distant;  and,  in  all  this  vague  and  phantom- 
like picture  that  had  been  so  suddenly  disclosed,  there  was  but 
one  sharp  and  definite  object — a  coasting-vessel  lying  motionless 

8 


170  MADCA?   VIOLET. 

out  there  on  the  shining  gray  sea,  its  hull  as  black  as  jet ;  its 
brown  sails  throwing  perfect  shadows  on  the  mirror  beneath.  It 
was  as  yet  early  morning;  no  one  could  say  whether  that  lumi- 
nous glow  throughout  the  gray  would  turn  to  clear  sunlight,  or 
whether  the  slow,  soft  fingers  of  the  rain-clouds  would  again  pass 
over  the  world-picture,  obliterating  successively  island  and  mount- 
ain and  sea. 

Early  as  it  was,  a  young  lady  had  managed  to  write  the  follow- 
ing letter,  which  she  was  just  putting  into  an  envelope  : 

"  Castle  Bandbox,  in  the  Western  Highlands,  12th  August. 

"My  dear  Papa, — You  have  known  for  many  a  year  that  I 
am  the  most  dutiful  of  daughters ;  so  here  is  the  account  I  prom- 
ised you  of  our  explorations  in  this  wild  country.  It  was  on  the 
evening  of  the  10th  of  August,  in  the  present  year,  that  we  effect- 
ed our  disembarkation,  and  were  most  hospitably  received  by  the 
inhabitants  of  this  coast,  two  of  whom  willingly  agreed  (after 
much  talk  among  themselves  in  a  language  we  did  not  under- 
stand) to  carry  our  luggage  and  accoutrements  for  us  (on  wheel- 
barrows). Throwing  out  a  scout  or  two,  in  the  shape  of  bare- 
headed children,  with  very  brown  faces,  bare  legs  and  feet,  and 
tattered  kilts,  we  struck  a  trail  which  eventually  led  us  away  from 
the  coast  into  the  mountains.  By-and-by  we  ascended,  until  be- 
hind us  we  could  behold  the  open  waters  of  the  Atlantic,  with 
various  long  and  beautiful  islands,  and  the  lofty  mountains  of 
Morven  and  Mull ;  while  in  our  front,  crowning  a  small  knoll  that 
stands  in  the  midst  of  an  amphitheatre  of  heather-clad  hills,  we 
beheld  a  small,  peaked,  white  building,  which  we  made  bold  to 
call  Castle  Bandbox.  By  whom,  or  when,  this  solitary  habitation, 
in  the  midst  of  the  moors,  was  built,  I  do  not  know.  We  have 
already  discovered  it  to  be  the  most  delightful  of  toy-houses,  once 
you  have  got  accustomed  to  knocking  your  head  against  the 
sloping  roof  of  your  bedroom. 

"  Scarcely  had.  we  arrived  when  the  youngest  member  of  the 
party  and  the  writer  of  this  narrative,  leaving  to  our  elders  the 
business  of  unpacking,  started  off  on  an  exploration  of  the  adjoin- 
ing mountains,  the  nearest  of  which  is  separated  from  the  garden 
by  a  wire  fence  to  keep  out  rabbits.  The  garden,  I  should  have 
said,  o-oes  all  round  the  side  of  the  knoll :  the  borders  of  the  va- 
rious  plots  are  adorned  with  tree-fuchsias,  rose-bushes,  sweet-wil- 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  l7l 

liams,  and  marigolds  ;  but  the  plots  themselves  contain  such  more 
useful  plants  as  carrots,  turnips,  beans,  and  potatoes — the  last  in 
flower.  The  first  mountain  on  the  other  side  of  the  wire  fence 
we  named  Mount  Glorioso.  Its  chief  peculiarity  is  its  tangle  of 
furze,  brambles,  meadow-sweet,  and  ferns  round  its  lower  slopes ; 
then  you  come  to  a  forest  of  young  larches,  trees  which  tear 
your  hair  to  pieces,  and  leave  tufts  of  sticky  white  all  over  your 
clothes.  Passing  across  the  summit  of  this  mountain,  the  advent- 
urers reached  another  peak,  which  they  named  Mount  Magnifi- 
coso :  the  chief  peculiarity  of  this  eminence  is  its  immensely  high 
heather  —  beautiful  to  look  at,  but  desperately  difficult  to  walk 
through.  The  third  and  last  of  this  chain  of  mountains  we  vent- 
ured to  call  Mount  Extremitoso,  the  chief  peculiarity  of  which  is 
an  abundance  of  steep  gray  rocks,  up  which  you  must  scramble 
to  find  yourself  on  a  high  and  windy  summit  of  close  and  slip- 
pery grass.     We  got  no  farther  than  that. 

"  But  oh,  papa,  if  you  could  see  what  we  saw  then — what  we 
can  see  now  from  the  windows  of  this  place — the  long  stretches 
of  sea,  and  the  distant  mountains  that  appear  to  rise  right  out  of 
the  water,  and  that  change  in  color  every  minute  of  the  day !  I 
remember,  just  as  we  were  getting  to  the  station,  Mr.  Drummond 
saying  to  me,  '  You  will  find  a  difference  between  Euston  Square 
and  Morven ;'  but  I  had  no  idea  of  what  a  difference.  Not  that 
he  ever  speaks  disrespectfully  of  Euston  Square ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  says  one  ought  to  grow  very  wise  living  there — looking  on  at 
the  mutability  of  life  —  the  coming  and  going  of  cabs  and  car- 
riages, some  people  with  dogs  and  guns,  and  others  with  coffins. 
And  did  you  ever  notice  simple  country-people  asking  the  way 
to  Holborn  or  London  Bridge,  and  then  setting  out  to  walk  there 
with  all  their  luggage,  just  as  if  they  were  going  round  a  corner 
in  a  village  ?  Mr.  Drummond  says  he  has  seen  them ;  but  he  is 
a  very  imaginative  man.  Oh,  by-the-way,  did  you  ever  notice, 
papa,  the  architecture  of  St.  Pancras  Church — the  steeple  and  the 
stone  women,  especially  ?  I  have  found  out  that  is  the  only  way 
of  enraging  him — to  talk  about  St.  Pancras  Church,  and  say  you 
rather  like  it. 

"We  have  the  most  delightful  evenings  —  so  cheerful  and 
homely ;  and  although  Mr.  Drummond  professes  to  have  become 
a  thorough  savage,  and  to  have  forsworn  all  hooks  and  writing, 
and  t<>  be  interested  only  in  cartridges  and  setters,  and  so  forth, 


172  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

in  the  evening  he  talks  about  every  thing  you  can  think  of,  and 
it  is  -worth  a  thousand  lectures  to  hear  him,  besides  being  much 
more  amusing  than  a  lecture.  I  never  knew  a  man  so  bright- 
spirited  ;  it  is  quite  delightful  to  hear  him  laugh ;  and  you  would 
scarcely  think  there  was  so  much  wisdom  in  what  he  says,  if  you 
were  not  accustomed  to  his  joking,  way.  He  is  a  great  favorite 
here ;  already  various  gentlemen  in  the  neighborhood  (in  the 
neighborhood  means  twenty  miles  of  mountains)  have  offered 
him  shooting ;  and  one,  who  is  going  to  China,  has  placed  his 
yacht  at  his  disposal  for  the  whole  of  September,  if  he  chooses  to 
have  it.  Now  I  must  say  good-bye ;  for  Amy  and  I  are  going 
out  to  see  some  of  the  shooting ;  and  it  is  time  we  started. 
"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Violet  North. 
"  P.S. — Mr.  Drurnmond  is  quite  delighted  with  the  gun  you 
sent  him ;  and  yesterday  he  tried  it  by  getting  old  Peter  to  throw 
empty  bottles  into  the  air.  Mr.  Drummond  did  not  hit  any  of 
the  bottles,  however.  I  could  see  that  it  must  be  a  very  difficult 
thing  to  do." 

"  Violet !  Amy  !  Come  along  now,  and  bring  all  your  water- 
proofs, cloaks,  wrappers,  and  umbrellas  !" 

A  tall,  gaunt  figure  was  standing  in  the  door-way,  clad  in  a 
rough  shooting-jacket,  leggings,  and  thick  boots.  A  much  small- 
er and  older  man  —  a  curious,  little,  weather-beaten  man  —  was 
standing  outside,  holding  in  leash  a  very  ragged-looking  setter. 

"  It'll  no  rain  the  day,"  the  old  man  said,  abruptly. 

"  But  it  is  raining,"  responded  Mr.  Drummond. 

The  wiry  little  man  cast  a  glance  around  at  the  gray  skies  and 
the  still  gray  sea. 

"  Na,  na,"  he  said,  "  it'll  no  rain  the  day." 

"  But,  confound  you,  it  is  raining  I"  cried  Drummond.  "  What 
do  you  call  that  ?" 

He  pointed  to  the  rain-drops  formed  by  the  drizzle  that  had 
fallen  on  the  well-oiled  barrels  of  his  breech-loader. 

"  Well,  and  eff  the  gun  iss  to  come  to  harm  with  that,"  said 
old  Peter,  testily,  "  you  will  better  be  for  leafing  it  at  home.  It 
iss  the  gentlemen  now  they  will  tek  sich  care  of  their  guns  ass  if 
the  guns  wass  no  for  shooting  at  all.  You  should  hef  brought  a 
gun  that  wass  good  for  this  country." 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  lV3 

"  You  will  have  to  clean  this  gun  very  carefully,  I  can  tell  you, 
Peter ;  and  every  night,  too." 

"  I  will  not,"  said  the  old  man,  sturdily.  "  There  iss  no  man 
will  know  more  apout  guns  as  me;  and  effery  Saturday  night, 
that  will  do  ferry  well.  It  wass  Mr.  Maclean,  of  Carn-Sloe,  he 
used  to  say  to  the  gentlemen  at  the  house, '  Kott,  what  would  we 
do  without  ta  Sunday  effery  week  ?  our  guns  would  neffer  be  cleaned 
at  all.'  But  the  Sunday,  it  wass  made  for  other  things  as  the  clean- 
ing of  guns ;  and  the  Saturday  night,  that  will  do  better  for  me." 

"  Then  you  won't  clean  my  gun  every  night  ?" 

"  There  iss  no  use  of  it." 

"  Then  I  must  do  it  myself,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Ferry  well." 

The  two  girls  now  came  down-stairs,  fully  equipped  for  the  ex- 
pedition ;  and  the  oddly  assorted  party  now  set  out. 

"  Is  that  dog  of  yours  any  better  behaved,  Peter  ?" 

"  He's  a  gran'  good  dog,  a  ferry  good  dog,"  said  the  old  High- 
landman.  "  There  iss  just  nothing  that  will  pass  the  nose  of  him. 
Ay,  I  will  say  this,  that  sometimes  he  is  a  something  too  eager  in 
the  rinnin'  in — ay,  just  a  wee  thing  too  eager." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  he  has  no  fault  at  all — beyond  a 
fancy  for  eating  every  bird  you  shoot." 

The  old  man  was  nettled ;  but  there  was  a  humorous  twinkle 
in  his  eyes  all  the  same. 

"  Ay,  sir ;  but  even  then  he  will  not  get  too  fat  when  he  iss 
out  with  you,  sir." 

"  Confound  you,  Peter,  you  are  more  impertinent  than  ever." 

"  Na,  na,  sir ;  I  will  only  speak  the  truth  to  you,  ass  you  will 
speak  it  to  me ;  and  there  iss  no  harm  in  that." 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Peter,"  said  a  certain  tall  young  lady,  with  great 
asperity  and  dignity — "  I  think  you  might  speak  the  truth  a  little 
more  respectfully." 

The  old  keeper  gave  her  a  side-glance  as  he  trudged  along. 

"Ay,  I  am  no  in  the  use  of  heffing  leddies  come  out  to  the 
shooting." 

"  Peter  and  I  understand  each  other  very  well,  Violet,"  Mr. 
Drummond  said.  "  You  will  soon  learn  not  to  mind  what  he 
says — especially  when  he  reports  about  the  game.  I  suppose  you 
are  quite  prepared,  Peter,  to  find  the  forms  of  thirty  or  forty 
wholly  imaginary  hares  at  a  moment's  notice?" 


174  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Peter  but  half  understood  the  sarcasm. 

"  There  iss  plenty  of  game,  if  there  wass  any  one  to  shoot  it," 
said  he,  coolly ;  and  then  he  added,  with  another  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  Did  you  effer  hear,  mem,  of  John  MacFarlane,  that  wass 
sent  out  by  Mr.  Maclean,  of  Carn-Sloe,  with  the  two  English  gen- 
tlemen ?" 

"  No,  I  never  did,"  said  Violet. 

"Ay,  it  iss  ferry  cleffer  some  of  the  English  gentlemen  are; 
and  they  wass  coming  to  see  a  piece  of  shooting  that  Carn-Sloe 
had  to  let ;  and  John  MacFarlane,  he  went  with  them  ;  and  Carn- 
Sloe,  he  had  told  John  to  gif  a  good  account  of  the  ground. 
And  they  wass  ashing  him, '  John,  iss  there  any  pheasants  here  V 
And  he  will  say,  '  They're  just  in  soosands  ;'*  for  he  would  get 
Carn-Sloe  a  good  price.  And  they  wass  ashing  him,  '  John,  iss 
there  any  parrtriches  here  V  And  he  will  say,  '  They're  just  in 
soosands.'  And  one  of  the  English  gentlemen  he  wass  a  cleffer 
young  man ;  and,  for  the  joke  of  it,  he  will  ask,  '  John,  iss  there 
many  gorillas  too  V  And  John,  he  will  see  him  winking,  and  he 
will  say,  '  No,  there  iss  no  many  gorillas  here ;  they  comes  and 
goes  in  twos  and  threes — just  like  yoursels.'  And  it  wass  a  ferry 
good  answer  to  the  young  man." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  margin  of  the  shooting,  and 
the  tall  sportsman  was  transferring  to  his  pockets  some  of  the 
cartridges  which  Peter  carried,  when  suddenly  the  whole  world 
seemed  to  grow  black  around  them.  They  had  passed  the  last 
signs  of  cidtivation ;  and  the  only  possible  shelter  from  the  im- 
pending storm  was  a  wall  of  rough  stones  that  ran  up  the  valley 
between  two  hills.  As  the  first  heavy  drops  were  already  splash- 
ing down,  they  had  to  make  a  race  for  this  dike ;  Peter  following 
up  the  retreat  with  ill-concealed  disgust.  Here  was  the  mischief 
of  taking  ladies  out  shooting — and  on  the  12th,  too. 

The  small  group  successfully  crouched  und<5r  the  wall,  the 
driving  wind  carrying  the  fierce  torrents  of  rain  well  over  them ; 
while  Peter  stood  out  in  the  open,  unconcernedly  looking  out 
toward  the  sea. 

"  Why,  Mull  has  disappeared  altogether  !"  cried  Violet,  who 
was  also  looking  that  way. 

"  Oh  yes,  they  sometimes  have  a  drop  of  rain  in  Mull,"  said 

*  "  Soosands  " — thousands. 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  175 

Mr.  Drummond,  contentedly  doubled  up  like  a  trussed  fowl.  "  I 
asked  a  Mull  man  last  year,  in  August,  what  he  thought  of  the 
Mull  weather ;  and  he  said,  quite  complacently,  '  It  uz  verra  good 
weather — ay,  verra  good  weather;  there  waz  a  whole  week  in 
June  we  hadna  a  siugle  drop  o'  rain ;  but  the  weather  it  uz  a  lit- 
tle bit  broken  after  the  20th  of  August.'  But  do  you  see  Mull 
now  ?     Isn't  that  wonderful  ?     And  look  at  Morven  !" 

What  strange  apparition  of  a  world  was  this — far  behind  the 
rain,  and  shining  in  pale  yellows  and  greens  ?  The  intermediate 
veil  of  a  rainy  cloud  served  to  show  the  distant  sunlit  sea  and  the 
hills  as  something  pale,  magical,  and  remote ;  while  the  island  of 
Lismore,  nearer  at  hand,  began  to  gleam  through  a  mass  of  rain- 
bow colors  that  seemed  to  lie  along  the  sea  for  a  space  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  miles.  This  strange  and  spectral  world  was  full  of  mo- 
tion, too — its  aspect  changing  every  minute — as  the  black  clouds 
broke  overhead  to  show  bold  dashes  of  white  and  blue ;  as  the 
distant  sunlight  drank  up  the  rain-clouds,  and  then  the  great  hills 
came  out  distinct  and  clear,  and  all  round  the  splendid  coasts  of 
Morven,  Mull,  and  Lome  the  rushing  blue  seas  of  the  Atlantic 
shone  in  the  light. 

This  warm  burst  of  sunlight  roused  the  crouching  party ;  and 
when  they  stood  up  they  found  the  beautiful  bright  day  showing 
the  colors  of  the  hills  around  at  their  very  richest  —  the  clear, 
shining  grays  of  the  rocks,  the  pink  patches  of  heather,  the 
yellow -greens  of  the  bracken,  and  the  curious  blue -greens  of 
the  furze,  with  everywhere  to  each  point  of  light  a  sharp  black 
shadow. 

"Are  ye  ready  now,  sir?"  said  Peter,  impatiently. 

"You  needn't  be  in  a  hurry,  Peter;  there's  nothing  to  shoot, 
you  know." 

Now,  these  words  had  scarcely  been  uttered  when  an  extraor- 
dinary circumstance  occurred.  The  party  were  passing  by  the 
side  of  a  small  inclosure  of  young  larches  planted  along  the  side 
of  the  hill ;  and  just  at  this  moment  a  hare  ran  out  right  in  front 
of  them. 

"  Shoot,  sir,  shoot !"  yelled  Peter,  seeing  that  the  sportsman 
calmly  contemplated  the  hare,  without  putting  up  his  gun. 

The  animal  had  been  so  startled  by  coming  unexpectedly  on 
its  foes  that,  for  a  second,  it  had  remained  motionless,  staring 
with  large  paralyzed  gray  eyes  at  them  ;  then  the  next  moment  it 


176  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

was  off  and  up  the  hill  like  lightning.  Peter  could  not  restrain 
the  rage  and  disappointment  that  possessed  him ;  he  uttered  a 
whole  series  of  ejaculations  in  Gaelic,  and  then  flung  up  his  hands 
in  despair. 

"  Did  you  see  her  beautiful  eyes  ?"  asked  Mr.  Drumniond  of 
Violet. 

"  Yes,  only  for  a  moment." 

"Who  could  put  up  a  gun  and  bang  the  head  off  an  animal 
that  was  looking  at  you  like  that !"  he  said,  absently. 

"  Uncle,  mamma  will  laugh  at  you  again,"  said  Miss  Amy. 
"  Peter  is  sure  to  tell  her." 

"  Did  you  see  how  she  ran  ?"  he  asked  again,  quite  unconcern- 
edly. "  What  a  wonderful  piece  of  mechanism  !  If  you  could 
think  of  speed  as  an  abstraction,  and  put  it  in  a  coat  of  brown 
fur,  that  would  be  a  hare.     Well,  come  on." 

"  Will  I  tek  home  the  dog  ?"  asked  Peter,  in  bitter  sarcasm. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  wass  maybe  going  up  to  the  loch  with  the  led- 
dies.     Or  would  you  rather  try  the  shooting?" 

"  Try  the  shooting?  If  I  tickled  you  under  the  fifth  rib  with 
a  charge  of  number-six  shot — and  it  would  serve  you  right — you 
wouldn't  be  so  desperately  facetious,  Peter.  Let  loose  that  precious 
dog  of  yours.     We'll  see  if  we  can  get  him  something  to  eat." 

They  had  now  reached  a  series  of  heathery  and  rocky  knolls 
forming  a  ridge  along  the  side  of  the  mountain;  and  here  the 
ragged  brown  setter  was  set  at  liberty,  to  the  no  small  alarm  of 
many  small  birds  which  he  industriously  hunted  up  as  he  plunged 
madly  about. 

"  Have  a  care,  Jack !"  Peter  called  out,  in  a  muttered  whisper. 
"  Now,  sir,  now !" 

Mr.  Drummond  hurried  forward,  though  with  a  dark  suspicion 
that  Jack  was  drawing  him  on  to  a  chaffinch  or  a  thrush.  The 
suspicion  was  wrong,  however,  for  just  as  Jack,  yielding  to  temp- 
tation, suddenly  darted  his  nose  into  a  tuft  of  heather,  there  was 
a  wild  whir  of  wings,  and  a  rapid  discharge  of  two  barrels. 

"  Down  charge,  confound  you !"  were  the  last  words  heard  by 
Jack,  as  the  gallant  animal  forthwith  darted  off  in  joyous  pursuit 
of  the  bird,  which  had  flown  off  unharmed. 

"  That's  a  nice  dog  of  yours,  Peter,"  remarked  Mr.  Drummond, 
when  his  ancient  came  up. 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  177 

"  The  poor  beast  thinks  the  bird  maun  be  got  somehow,"  re- 
torted Peter,  with  composure. 

"  How  could  you  miss  him  !"  exclaimed  Violet. 

"  Uncle,  he  got  up  under  your  feet !" 

"  And  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  as  big  as  a  peacock." 

"You  might  have  hit  him  with  your  cap,  Mr.  Drummond." 

The  sportsman  was  not  affected  by  these  taunts  and  jeers. 

"Ay,  that  was  just  it,"  he  said,  seriously.     "  I  fired  too  soon." 

"  'Deed,  that  iss  ferry  true,  sir,"  interposed  Peter.  "  You  fired 
eight  days  too  soon." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  the  victim  of  all  this  sarcasm,  with 
a  stare. 

"  Did  you  not  see  it  wass  a  blackcock  ?" 

"  Good  gracious !" 

There  was  a  shout  of  merciless  laughter  from  the  two  young 
ladies,  which  drew  down  upon  them  the  remark  that  if  they  treat- 
ed so  grave  a  matter  as  the  12th  of  August  with  levity  and  ridi- 
cule, they  had  better  go  on  at  once  to  the  fresh-water  loch  and 
gather  lilies.  And  indeed  they  resolved  to  accept  this  advice  ; 
for  struggling  through  the  heather  was  somewhat  fatiguing  work  ; 
and  now  the  sun  was  shining  down  with  a  scorching  heat.  So, 
with  Amy  as  a  guide,  the  two  young  ladies  set  off  up  the  hill  to- 
Avard  a  small  and  lonely  mere  which  was  to  be  the  trysting-place 
for  luncheon ;  while  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  faithful  companion 
went  on  their  way  through  the  thick  heather. 

"Ay,  we  will  do  ferry  much  better  now,"  said  Peter,  with  an 
air  of  relief.  "  There  iss  no  shooting  at  all  when  the  leddies  will 
come  out — and  the  talking — and  the  talking — " 

Out  of  a  bunch  of  sedges  growing  in  one  of  the  hollows  start- 
ed, with  a  sudden  whir  and  cry  of  alarm,  a  strange  gray  animal 
that  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  fire-works  and  impossible  angles ; 
there  was  a  loud  bang  from  one  of  the  barrels ;  then  a  confused 
tumbling  of  wings  as  the  snipe  fell  dead  on  a  bit  of  rock. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Peter,  indignantly,  as  he  rescued 
the  bird  from  the  jaws  of  Jack,  "  that  there  would  be  no  shooting 
when  the  leddies  wass  here  with  their  talking — " 

"  Confound  you,  you  talk  more  than  any  dozen  ladies — " 

"  And  you  will  shoot  as  well  ass  any  one  when  you  will  not 
mek  a  joke  of  it ;  and  it  iss  not  every  one  will  shoot  a  snipe — " 

"  What  a  fool  the  bird  must  have  been  to  run  against  the  shot 

8* 


178  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

like  that,"  remarked  the  sportsman,  apparently  to  himself  ;  "if  it 
had  only  flown  straight  like  another  bird,  it  would  be  alive  now." 

On  they  went  again,  Avith  the  blazing  sun  scorching  face  and 
hands,  and  not  a  breath  of  wind  coming  in  from  that  wide  ex- 
panse of  blue  sea.  Jack,  moderating  his  first  transports  at  find- 
ing himself  free,  was  working  a  little  better,  and  the  garrulous 
ancient  was  for  once  holding  his  tongue.  But  there  were  no 
birds. 

"Here,  sir,  here!"  shouted  Peter,  in  an  excited  whisper — "a 
rabbit !" 

"  Where  ?" 

He  pointed  to  a  tuft  of  bracken  just  at  his  foot,  in  which  the 
rabbit  had  taken  refuge. 

"Be  ready,  sir." 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  remarked  the  sportsman,  calmly,  seeing  that  the 
rabbit  was  determined  to  remain  there  until  it  was  kicked  out, 
"  I  can  not  take  advantage  of  this  poor  creature's  confidence — " 

"Will  ye  no  shoot  her?"  said  the  exasperated  Peter.  "Tarn 
her,  I  will  wring  her  neck  then,  and  tek  her  home !" 

"  Hold  hard,  you  merciless  old  scoundrel !  I  am  mapping  out 
a  radius  of  forty  yards — she  shall  have  that  chance  for  her  life — 
and  if  she  gets  beyond  that  she  can  do  what  she  likes — call  a 
hansom,  or  turn  round  and  have  a  look  at  us — " 

Peter's  impatience  was  too  much  for  him  ;  he  would  not  wait 
for  his  master  to  finish  ;  he  kicked  out  the  rabbit.  The  frighten- 
ed animal  bolted  out  from  the  other  side  of  the  brackens,  ran  tilt 
against  Mr.  Drummond's  feet,  and  then  went  straight  up  the  side 
of  the  knoll,  which  was  here  almost  perpendicular.  The  sports- 
man looked  on  in  astonishment.  He  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  map  out  the  radius  in  this  direction. 

"  Shoot  her,  sir !  shoot  her !"  called  out  Peter,  in  rage  and  de- 
spair, as  the  rabbit  disappeared  over  the  edge  of  the  rock  above 
their  heads. 

"  I  don't  like  firing  at  rabbits  in  the  air,"  observed  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  with  much  composure.  "  That  rabbit  was  last  seen  in 
Covent  Garden — in  the  opera  of  '  Der  Freischiitz  ;'  the  preserva- 
tion of  my  soul  is  of  more  importance  than  a  rabbit -pie.  And 
what  would  become  of  you,  Peter,  if  you  eat  a  witch-rabbit,  a  de- 
moniacal pie,  a  slice  of  hideous  enchantment — " 

"  Kott  pless  me,  sir,  are  we  to  hef  any  shooting  the  day  ?"  ex- 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  179 

claimed  Peter,  observing  that  the  sportsman  was  quite  absently 
staring  out  at  the  sea  while  he  talked  —  and  while  Jack,  by-thc- 
way,  had  got  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead. 

"  Not  much,  not  much,"  was  the  reply.  "  Where  are  the 
birds,  Peter  ?" 

Indeed  there  were  no  birds  to  be  found  along  these  lower 
ridges  of  the  hills,  but  Peter  would  have  every  inch  of  the  ground 
gone  over  before  going  up  to  the  heights.  At  last,  however,  after 
two  hours'  fruitless  work  in  the  blazing  sunlight,  they  began  to 
ascend,  and  finally  found  themselves  on  the  crest  of  a  mountain 
which  seemed  to  place  the  whole  world  at  their  feet.  Even  if 
he  had  been  less  fatigued  with  the  climb,  the  gallant  sportsman 
would  have  paused  in  the  chase  to  look  at  the  wonderful  pano- 
rama now  spread  out  around  him. 

Which  was  the  more  lovely,  then  —  the  seaward  view,  or  the 
landward?  The  far -stretching  arms  of  the  still  blue  water  lay 
around  the  soft  green  islands ;  the  sunlight  shone  on  the  white 
tower  of  a  light-house  some  dozen  miles  away ;  one  or  two  ships, 
looking  like  toys,  lay  becalmed ;  and  away  beyond  these,  over  the 
dazzling  brightness  of  the  sea,  rose  the  majestic  shoulders  and 
peaks  of  the  Morven  hills,  grown  pale  and  ethereal  in  their  sum- 
mer hues.  Inland,  again,  the  eye  rested  on  an  endless  series  of 
mountain  ranges — mountain  billows  they  almost  seemed  to  be 
— decreasing  in  intensity  of  color  until  they  appeared  as  mere 
clouds  at  the  horizon.  Those  nearer  at  hand  were  mostly  of  an 
olive -green  color  where  the  sunlight  caught  their  slopes,  with 
here  and  there  a  patch  of  pale  purple,  telling  of  a  motionless 
cloud  overhead.  Which  Avas  the  more  lovely — the  blue  summer 
sea,  with  its  low  long  islands,  its  white  ships,  and  its  faintly  colored 
hills,  or  this  vast  and  silent  world  of  mountains,  close  up  to  the  sky  ? 

"Are  ye  no  goin'  on,  sir?" 

Mr.  Drummond  started,  for  a  human  voice  sounded  strangely 
in  the  great  stillness. 

"All  right,  Peter." 

Again  they  pushed  forward,  and  it  almost  seemed  as  if  their 
bad  luck  was  following  them  up  here  also,  when  Jack  suddenly 
ceased  his  wild  plunges  over  the  moor,  lie  had  got  into  a  gentle 
hollow  between  a  mass  of  rocks,  and  appeared  convinced  that  the 
rusty  tufts  of  heather  and  the  green  masses  of  bracken  concealed 
something  mysterious  and  awful. 


180  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

Suddenly  the  absolute  silence  of  the  mountain-top  was  broken 
by  what  was  nothing  less  than  a  wild  and  general  scrimmage. 
From  all  parts  of  the  heather,  one  after  another,  rose  a  succession 
of  huge  brown  masses,  that  flew  this  way  and  that  with  a  noise 
like  the  throbbing  of  a  paddle-steamer  infinitely  quickened ;  and 
bang  after  bang  came  from  the  reloaded  gun.  The  dog  seemed 
to  be  rushing  everywhere,  with  Peter  howling  oaths  in  Gaelic  at 
him ;  the  air  was  rilled  with  sulphurous  smoke ;  the  hills  were 
echoing  the  heavy  musketry-fire. 

Then  there  was  a  pause — an  awful  silence,  and  a  look  of  be- 
wilderment on  the  face  of  the  sportsman.  Had  he  shot  any 
thing  ?  he  seemed  to  ask,  after  all  this  terrible  commotion. 

There  was  a  loud  howl  from  Jack;  for  Peter — assured  that 
the  firing  was  over,  and  his  life  no  longer  in  danger — had  rushed 
at  the  dog  to  admonish  him  with  a  whip,  at  the  same  time  get- 
ting hold  of  a  bird  that  was  doubtless  on  the  point  of  being  de- 
voured. 

"  That  is  a  nice  dog  of  yours,  Peter." 

"  He  iss  a  ferra  good  dog  whateffer,"  contended  Peter,  sturdi- 
ly, as  he  went  to  pick  up  two  more  birds.  "Ass  I  wass  saying 
afore,  there  will  be  nothing  will  pass  the  nose  of  bim,  and  if  he 
iss  a  little  too  eager  in  the  rinnin',  we  can  cure  him  of  that. 
And  we  will  not  cure  him  of  that  unless  you  will  shoot  the  birds." 

"Are  you  grumbling  still?     Haven't  I  just  shot  some  birds?" 

"  Three,  sir ;  ay,  sir,  you  hef  shot  three.  But  ass  for  the  num- 
ber of  them  you  hef  missed,  ay,  Kott  only  knows  that." 

"  By  heavens,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  shoot  you,  Peter." 

"  You  would  miss  me,  sir,"  said  Peter,  imperturbably. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  rob  the  hangman,  anyhow,"  said  his  master. 
"Now  put  the  birds  in  your  bag,  and  we  will  go  down  to  the 
loch." 

"Already,  sir?"  said  Peter;  but  the  remonstrance  was  of  no 
avail,  the  sportsman  proceeding  to  cross  the  ridge  of  the  hill  until 
he  came  in  sight  of  a  fresh-water  loch,  lying  in  a  small  hollow  far 
below  him. 

It  was  a  picturesque  little  lake  that  lay  there  in  the  cup  of  the 
mountains.  One  half  of  its  surface  was  hidden  by  water-lilies, 
the  white  stars  of  the  flowers  gleaming  here  and  there  among  the 
broad  green  leaves ;  the  other  half  of  the  lake  showing  a  perfect 
mirror  of  the  overhanging  hills  and  sky ;   with  this  difference, 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  181 

that  whereas  the  brilliant  colors  of  the  sky  were  faithfully  reflect- 
ed, the  spectral  mountains  that  went  away  down  into  those  blues 
and  whites  were  of  a  uniform  rich  shining  brown,  as  deep  in  color 
as  a  newly  cut  peat.  That,  indeed,  was  the  color  of  the  clear,  dark 
water  itself,  come  from  the  mountain  rills. 

There  was  a  small  boat  on  the  lake,  lying  motionless;  and  there 
were  two  figures  in  the  boat,  one  distinguished  by  a  white  feath- 
er that  gleamed  in  the  sun.  When  the  sportsman,  high  on  the 
mountain-top,  sent  down  his  view-halloo,  he  was  answered  by  a 
flutter  of  two  handkerchiefs ;  and  presently,  as  he  proceeded  to 
descend  the  hill,  he  saw  two  tiny  oars  put  out,  and  the  boat  begin 
to  creep  slowly  to  the  shore. 

"  Now,  girls,  set  to  work  to  get  luncheon  ready,"  was  the  com- 
mand. "Why,  you  might  have  had  the  hamper  opened,  and  the 
cloth  spread  on  the  grass,  and  every  thing  ready,  instead  of  idling 
out  there  in  a  boat.  Is  this  a  fit  reception  for  a  weary  hunter  re- 
turning from  the  fatigue  of  the  chase  ?" 

"  What  spoils  has  the  weary  hunter  brought  back  with  him  ?" 
demanded  the  elder  of  the  two  girls ;  whereupon  she  was  ad- 
monished not  to  indulge  a  vain  curiosity,  but,  instead,  to  put  the 
bottles  of  beer  into  the  lake  to  cool.  The  weary  hunter  content- 
edly sat  and  beheld  these  and  other  preparations  being  made  for 
his  comfort. 

It  was  a  sufficiently  picturesque  and  enjoyable  little  meal,  up 
here  by  the  side  of  the  solitary  lake,  amidst  the  silence  of  the  hills, 
in  the  breathless  warmth  and  brilliancy  of  a  summer  day.  The 
discontented  Peter  and  his  erratic  companion  Jack  were  both 
seated  at  some  distance  off,  on  a  bank  of  green  brackens;  and 
with  them  was  the  boy  who  had  brought  the  basket  all  the  way 
from  Castle  Bandbox.  In  front  of  the  mighty  hunter  lay  the 
four  birds  that  had  been  taken  forth  from  the  bag  for  purposes 
of  display.  The  luncheon  itself  was  distributed  in  a  promiscuous 
manner  over  such  bits  of  rock,  tufts  of  heather,  and  clumps  of 
bracken  as  were  most  convenient. 

And  when  a  soothing  pipe  followed  the  frugal  meal,  and  intro- 
duced a  new  perfume  into  the  warm  air,  the  hunter,  with  a  great 
look  of  contentment  on  his  face,  began  to  discourse ;  and  his  dis- 
course Avas  of  all  things  in  the  earth,  and  the  air,  and  the  sea. 
First  of  all,  if  the  report  of  a  faithful  listener  is  to  be  credited,  it 
treated  of  the  dying-out  of  metaphoric  speech  in  literature.     It 


182  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

pointed  out  that  the  whole  of  Shakspeare  is  written  in  that  now 
unknown  tongue ;  it  dealt  with  the  substitution  of  similes  for 
metaphors ;  it  traced  the  degeneracy  of  similes  into  the  "  allu- 
sions "  of  newspaper  articles.  And  then,  harking  back  upon  Shaks- 
peare,  it  asserted  that  the  greatest  good  fortune  which  could  be- 
fall a  certain  young  lady,  then  present,  was  that  she  might  nev- 
er lose  her  sense  of  wonder ;  that  she  should  never  get  into  the 
habit  of  taking  the  facts  and  phenomena  of  the  world  as  matters 
of  course ;  that  always  the  mystery  of  life  should  be  before  her 
eyes.  What  happiness  it  would  be,  continued  this  indolent  ora- 
tor, if  one  could  come  fresh  to  the  reading  of  Shakspeare;  if 
one's  familiarity  in  youth  with  the  existence  of  Juliet,  and  Rosa- 
lind, and  King  Lear,  and  Autolycus,  could  be  absolutely  wiped 
out ;  if  one  were  introduced  with  all  the  sense  of  novelty  and 
wonder  to  the  magic  world  of  Puck  and  Ariel,  to  the  mysterious 
horrors  of  "  Macbeth,"  and  the  idyllic  quiet  of  Arden  Forest.  "By- 
and-by,"  remarked  the  master  to  his  attentive  pupil,  "you  will  un- 
derstand better  what  I  mean  when  we  take  you  to  the  lonely 
shores  of  Mull  and  the  solitary  coasts  of  Skye;  and  there  you 
will  learn  how  the  ways  and  doings  of  humanity,  which  are  the 
whole  world  to  a  dweller  in  cities,  are  really  but  a  trifling  and 
temporary  accident  in  the  history  of  that  awful  world  that  existed 
through  innumerable  ages  without  a  sign  of  life  in  its  empty  seas 
and  its  silent  lands." 

"  You  ask  me  sometimes,"  he  then  said,  apparently  addressing 
Violet,  but  with  his  eyes  fixed  idly  on  the  still  waters  of  the 
lake,  "  why  I  laugh  at  very  serious  people  who  are  desperately  in 
earnest  about  their  affairs.  Well,  I  think  it  was  those  lonely 
hills  in  the  West  Highlands  did  that  for  me.  If  you  only  think 
of  it,  it  seems  strange  enough,  this  intense  preoccupation,  during 
the  brief  moment  that  one  calls  life — this  forgetfulness  of  why 
and  wherefore,  and  to  what  end.  The  man  who  has  made  his 
eighty  thousand  is  miserable  until  he  makes  his  ninety  thousand ; 
and  he  works  away  as  if  he  had  a  whole  series  of  life-times  to  fall 
back  upon,  instead  of  one,  and  that  one  the  most  puzzling  of  all 
mysteries.  Those  mountains  of  Skye,  in  their  awful  age,  and 
silence,  and  desolation — I  wonder  if  they  take  any  notice  of  the 
race  of  little  creatures  temporarily  occupying  the  surface  of  the 
earth  —  children  who  take  no  heed  of  yesterday  or  to-morrow : 
they  don't  know  where  they  came  from  ;  they  don't  know  where 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  183 

they  are  going ;  but  the  present  hour  is  enough  for  them,  and  they 
must  be  desperately  in  earnest  over  their  pastimes  and  occupations ; 
some  strumming  on  drums  and  making  a  great  noise  in  the  world  ; 
others  wearing  wigs  and  looking  wise ;  others  picking  up  bits  of 
metal,  and  anxious  only  to  s'ay, '  My  hoard  is  bigger  than  yours.' 
And  then,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  sleep  comes  down  on  the  chil- 
dren— the  gentle  mother  Death  hushes  all  that  strife  of  drums  and 
tongues,  the  quarreling,  and  striving,  and  anxiety — and  the  mys- 
tery of  that  strange  day  and  its  doings  remains  unsolved.  Per- 
haps the  new  day  will  bring  more  light,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

"Are  ye  goin'  on,  sir?"  said  Peter,  coming  up  with  evident  im- 
patience in  his  face. 

"  Gracious  goodness !  this  man  is  as  intent  on  killing  birds  as 
if  he  hadn't  a  soul  to  be  saved !"  exclaimed  the  indolent  sports- 
man.    "  Peter,  do  you  know  you  have  a  soul  to  be  saved  ?" 

"  I  ken  we  hef  been  here  for  an  hour  and  more  as  an  hour," 
said  Peter,  gloomily. 

"  You  see,  he  won't  answer.  He  is  like  that  countryman  of  his 
who  wouldn't  tell  a  cross-examining  counsel  whether  he  was  a 
Protestant  or  a  Roman  Catholic  for  fear  of  committing  himself. 
All  that  could  be  got  out  of  him  was,  '  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  hef  no 
bias.'  And  yet  it  is  very  curious,"  he  continued,  just  as  if  there 
were  no  hiatus  in  his  train  of  thought,  "  what  rich  people  could  do 
if  only  they  were  less  in  earnest,  and  tried  to  amuse  themselves.  I 
have  often  thought  that  if  I  were  a  rich  man  I  should  like  to  stand 
at  Temple  Bar  with  a  thousand  sovereigns  in  a  bag,  and  give  one 
to  each  person  who  passed,  irrespective  of  his  appearance.  Mind 
you,  you  could  confer  a  great  deal  of  happiness  that  way ;  for 
even  those  who  were  themselves  rich  would  feel  a  comfortable 
sensation  in  getting  an  unexpected  sovereign ;  they  would  get  a 
little  glow  of  satisfaction,  just  as  if  they  had  drunk  a  glass  of  dry 
sherry  before  sitting  down  to  dinner — " 

"  Are  ye  goin'  on,  sir  ?"  again  asked  the  impatient  Peter. 

"  Yes,  I  am  goin'  on,  Peter,  but  not  with  the  shooting — not  at 
present.  Why,  your  head  is  as  full  of  the  shooting — you  remind 
me  of  the  Highland  boatman  who  took  out  a  celebrated  travel- 
er in  his  boat  for  an  evening's  fishing ;  and  when  he  was  asked 
afterward  what  he  thought  of  the  great  man,  he  said,  with  great 
bitterness,  'Ay,  hass  he  traveled  much  ?  AVell,  there  iss  no  appear- 
ance of  it;  for  I  wass  thinking  he  would  speak  of  killing  and 


184  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

fighting  the  lions  and  teegers ;  but  it  wass  nothing  but  the  fesh- 
en  and  the  feshen  he  will  speak  of,  and  there  Avass  nothing  in 
his  head  but  the  feshen  and  the  feshen,  and  any  one  knows  about 
the  feshen.'  But  if  we  must  go,  we  must.  You  girls  must  put 
back  those  things  in  the  basket  and  give  it  to  the  boy.  Amy, 
when  you  have  reported  yourself  at  home,  go  down  to  John  Mac- 
lean and  tell  him  we  shall  want  his  boat  to-night.  Take  a  brace 
of  birds  apiece.     Good-bye  !" 

"  Any  more  orders,  please,  sir  ?"  asked  Violet,  meekly. 

"Go  away,  and  don't  be  impertinent  to  people  older  than 
yourself,"  said  the  sportsman,  as  he  shouldered  his  gun  and  set 
off. 

Now  that  afternoon,  whether  it  was  that  he  considered  some- 
thing due  to  the  12th,  or  whether  it  was  that  he  wished  to  pro- 
vide the  small  household  with  game  sufficient  to  give  him  two  or 
three  days'  idleness,  Mr.  Drummond  went  seriously  and  diligently 
to  work ;  and  by  dint  of  firing  a  great  many  times,  whether  the 
birds  rose  wild  or  not,  he  managed  to  make  a  bag  which  even 
satisfied  Peter.  As  they  walked  home,  indeed,  in  the  evening, 
Peter  was  quite  cheerful  and  loquacious  —  in  his  grim  fashion, 
that  is  to  say,  for  in  his  most  mirthful  moments  he  spoke  in  a 
discontented,  querulous  tone,  as  if  he  dared  not  admit  to  himself 
that  he  had  nothing  to  grumble  about.  And  on  this  occasion 
his  unwonted  levity  took  the  form  of  telling  stories  about  a  rela- 
tive of  his,  one  John  MacFarlane,  who  was  keeper  to  Mr.  Mac- 
lean of  Cam-Sloe ;  and  the  aim  of  those  stories,  so  far  as  could 
be  made  out,  was  to  show  that  John  MacFarlane  was  a  stupid 
man  who  said  and  did  ridiculous  things,  but  that,  all  the  same, 
John  MacFarlane  was  more  than  a  match  for  the  English,  who 
were  more  stupid  still. 

"Ay,"  said  Peter,  "there  wass  a  ferry  cleffer  Englishman,  and 
he  will  know  all  about  the  stones  and  rocks,  and  he  will  say  to 
John,  '  John,  you  belief  in  your  Bible,  and  you  belief  that  all  the 
people  that  hef  lived  in  the  world  will  rise  again  on  the  last 
day ;'  and  John  he  will  say,  '  Yes,  sir,  I  belief  that.'  And  the 
Englishman,  he  will  say,  'Now,  John,  I  will  tell  you  something; 
and  it  is  this,  that  if  the  whole  world  wass  made  of  phosphates, 
there  would  not  be  enough  of  phosphates  to  make  bones  for  all 
those  people ;  and  what  do  you  say  to  that,  John  ?'  And  John, 
he  will  not  wait  long  for  his  answer :  '  Well,  sir,'  this  wass  what 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  185 

John  will  say, '  the  Bible  will  tell  us  that  them  that  are  dead  in 
the  Lord  will  rise  first ;  and  I  am  sure  there  will  be  plenty  of 
phosphates  for  them ;  and  as  for  the  wicked  people,  I  do  not 
care  if  they  hef  not  a  leg  to  stand  on.'  And  it  wass  a  ferry  good 
answer  to  gif  to  the  Englishman." 

"  It  was  a  very  good  answer,  but  it  is  a  very  wicked  story, 
Peter." 

"  There  wass  another  story,"  continued  Peter,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  but  the  same  grumbling  tone  in  his  voice,  "  ferry 
wicked ;  but  many's  the  time  I  will  hef  a  laugh  at  that  story. 
That  wass  about  two  men  in  a  boat,  and  the  night  it  wass  so 
black  they  could  not  find  their  way  into  the  harbor  at  all,  and 
the  wind  it  wass  blowing  ferry  hard.  And  the  one  he  says  to 
the  other, '  Duncan,  you  must  gif  a  prayer  now,  or  we  will  neffer 
get  into  the  harbor  at  all.'  And  Duncan,  he  says,  'I  canna  do 
it ;  you  maun  do  it  yourself,  Donald.'  And  Donald,  he  will  say, 
'  Tarn  you,  Duncan,  if  you  do  not  gif  a  prayer,  we  will  be  trooned 
as  sure  as  death,  for  I  can  see  nothing  but  blackness.'  And  so 
it  wass  that  Duncan  will  stay  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  he  will 
kneel  down,  and  he  will  say,  '  O  Lord,  it  iss  fifteen  years  since  I 
hef  asked  you  for  any  thing ;  but  it  will  be  another  fifteen  years 
before  I  will  ask  you  for  any  thing  more,  if  you  will  tek  the  boat 
into  the  harbor.'  And  then,  sure  enough,  at  this  moment  there 
wass  a  great  sound  of  the  boat  going  on  the  beach,  and  Donald, 
that  was  up  at  the  bow,  he  will  cry  out,  'Stop,  Duncan,  do  not 
pray  any  more  ;  do  not  be  beholden  to  any  body,  bekass  the 
boat's  ashore  already.'  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Peter,"  said  his  companion,  slowly,  "  that 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  latent  villainy  about  you." 

"What,  sir?" 

"You  are  a  jiber  and  a  jeerer  at  solemn  things." 

"Indeed  I  am  not,  sir,"  said  Peter,  indignantly.  "A  story  iss 
only  a  story,  and  you  will  get  a  laugh  from  it ;  and  the  man  who 
iss  afrait  of  a  story  iss  a  foolish  man,  whether  he  iss  an  English- 
man or  whether  he  iss  not  an  Englishman." 

"  In  my  country  they  don't  understand  joking  about  such 
things,  Peter." 

"  Kott  pless  me,  sir,  in  your  country  I  am  not  sure  that  they 
will  understand  any  thing,"  said  Peter,  coolly. 

This  general  proposition  Peter  proceeded  to  justify  by  quoting 


180  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

instances  of  extraordinary  ignorance  on  the  part  of  English  peo- 
ple whom  he  had  met — people  who  did  not  know  the  difference 
between  a  sea-trout  and  a  grilse,  who  called  a  loch  a  lock,  and 
wore  kid  gloves  when  they  went  out  shooting.  Mr.  Drummond 
listened  with  great  patience  and  in  silence,  apparently  deeply 
ashamed  of  his  country  and  countrymen. 

And  now,  as  they  trudged  along  the  solitary  road,  they  got 
down  into  the  valleys ;  and  though  there  was  a  wooded  hill  on 
their  left  that  shut  off  the  sea,  they  saw  by  the  great  blaze  of 
crimson  over  the  dark  line  of  the  trees  that  the  sun  was  setting 
in  the  west ;  while  in  the  wide  and  silent  hollow  before  them,  over 
the  cold  greens  of  the  marsh,  a  pale  white  mist  was  beginning  to 
gather.  Suddenly,  however,  they  got  out  of  this  pale  and  cold 
valley,  and  were  confronted  by  all  the  bewildering  colors  of  the 
sunset  over  the  sea.  Along  the  western  skies  lay  a  sultry  and 
dusky  redness — a  confused  mist  of  colored  light;  and  the  mount- 
ains of  Mull  and  of  Morven,  rising  into  it,  were  of  a  beautiful 
reddish-purple,  and  seemingly  transparent.  Out  there  the  long 
green  islands  were  growing  dark  over  the  silver-gray  of  the  sea — 
a  silver  gray  broken  by  olive-green  splashes  as  the  water  lapped 
round  the  rocks ;  but  farther  out  still  the  sea  was  a  smooth  plain 
of  crimson,  bewildering  to  the  eye,  and  causing  one  long  neck  of 
land  to  look  as  black  as  jet.  Tbey  were  in  the  land  of  gorgeous 
sunsets;  and  the  stranger  had  not  as  yet  become  familiar  with 
such  splendid  exhibitions  of  color.  It  was  with  a  dumb  regret 
that  he  had  to  turn  away  from  the  shore  again,  and  take  to  the 
hills,  though  now  the  warm  red  light  was  shining  across  the  slopes 
of  heather  and  bracken.  The  small  white  house  on  the  high 
knoll  gave  him  a  kindly  welcome.  A  pair  of  swallows  were  fly- 
ing about  the  gables.  A  tiny  terrier  wagged  her  tail  as  he  ap- 
proached. There  was  a  scent  of  meadow-sweet  in  the  even- 
ing air. 

Three  brace  of  grouse,  three  hares,  a  rabbit,  a  brace  of  snipe, 
a  blackcock  (shot  by  misadventure,  and  carefully  hidden  away  at 
the  foot  of  the  game-bag  by  the  unscrupulous  Peter),  and  a  land- 
rail— this  was  the  spoil  which  the  mighty  hunter  had  brought 
home,  and  which  he  stoutly  contended  was  all  that  a  man  could 
get  off  that  piece  of  ground  in  a  single  day.  Nevertheless,  there 
was  a  fierce  war  of  words  during  that  evening  meal  at  Castle 
Bandbox  ;  and  proposals  to  call  in  Peter  to  give  testimony  as  to 


CASTLE    BANDBOX,  N.  B.  187 

the  number  of  misses.     The  hunter  treated  these  suspicions  with 
scorn. 

Greater  peace  prevailed  when  the  small  household  came  out 
again  into  the  cool  evening — indeed,  they  were  struck  silent  by 
the  transformation  that  had  come  over  the  world.  All  round  the 
horizon  the  great  mountains  were  black  as  night ;  over  them  was 
the  smooth  and  lambent  expanse  of  the  sky,  with  the  full  orb  of 
the  moon  glowing  in  its  mellow  light ;  far  away,  in  the  east,  over 
the  black  range  of  the  hills,  a  planet  burned  clear  in  the  blue. 
Then  the  moonlight  fell  on  the  furze  and  brackens  near  them, 
touching  them  with  a  soft  gray ;  while  along  the  slopes  of  the 
mountains  behind  them,  where  there  were  strips  of  cultivated 
land,  it  lighted  up  those  small  patches  of  corn  almost  to  a  silver 
whiteness  among  the  ebony -black  shadows  of  the  overhanging 
rocks.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  clear,  dark  heavens,  nor  a 
murmur  from  the  far  expanse  of  the  sea. 

They  went  away  down  to  the  shore,  and  got  out  a  small  row- 
ing-boat, and  rowed  away  from  the  land.  It  was  the  two  girls 
who  pulled ;  and  the  sound  of  the  oars  was  the  only  sound  to  be 
heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  night ;  for  even  a  certain  loquacious 
philosopher  did  not  choose  to  break  the  mystic  silence  that  reign- 
ed over  the  world.  The  rocky  shores  they  had  left  behind  became 
blacker  and  blacker ;  the  points  of  orange  fire  that  told  of  distant 
cottages  became  smaller  and  smaller ;  the  white  moonlight  glitter- 
ed on  the  wet  blades  of  the  oars.  Mull  and  Morven  were  awful 
in  their  gloom,  where  the  great  mountains  seemed  to  be  alone 
with  the  stars. 

"What  a  dreadful  thing  it  would  be,"  Violet  said,  letting  her 
oar  rest  for  a  minute,  "  to  go  up  one  of  those  mountains  at  night, 
all  by  yourself !  you  would  imagine  every  sound  was  something 
horrible — " 

"  Now,  Violet,  that  is  all  founded  on  a  common  mistake,"  said 
another  voice.  "  Just  think  what  you  would  do  if  you  were 
a  ghost.  You  wouldn't  go  away  into  lonely  places,  where 
you  could  see  nothing,  of  a  cold  night,  and  prowl  about  there. 
Wouldn't  you  rather  take  a  nice  warm  forenoon,  and  sit  invisible 
on  a  stile,  and  see  the  country-folks  drive  by  to  market  in  the 
brisk  sunshine  ?  I  do  believe  that  ghosts  are  friendly  fellows,  and 
wouldn't  frighten  you  for  the  world.  Often,  when  I  am  passing 
a  wood,  I  wonder  whether  any  of  them  are  sitting  on  the  fence, 


188  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

having  a  quiet  hobnob  among  themselves,  and  perhaps  laughing 
at  the  way  you  walk.  Of  course,  if  ghosts  could  plague  people 
by  appearing  at  night,  they  ought  always  to  plague  rich  people. 
The  night  is  the  day  of  the  poor ;  then  they  have  every  thing  re- 
dressed and  made  right  in  their  dreams.  A  rich  man  in  actual 
life  can't  enjoy  himself  half  so  much  as  a  poor  man  who  dreams 
he  is  rich,  or  a  neglected  man  who  dreams  he  is  famous,  or  a  sick- 
ly man  who  dreams  he  is  an  athlete.  But  do  you  know  who 
must  have  the  happiest  dreams  in  the  world?" 

Nobody  did  know. 

"  A  dog.  They  are  full  of  life  and  motion,  without  remorse. 
And  were  you  ever  asked  a  conundrum  in  a  dream,  the  answer  to 
which  it  cost  you  a  desperate  effort  to  make  out ;  although  'of 
course  the  one  side  of  your  brain  that  made  the  conundrum  must 
have  known  the  answer  all  along  ?  In  going  to  sleep,  too,  haven't 
you  had  a  clear  and  delightful  consciousness  that  your  percep- 
tions and  fancies  were  growing  quite  the  reverse  of  clear  —  the 
confusion  meaning  the  approach  of  the  sleep  you  are  waiting  for  ? 
Then  there  is  another —     Gracious  goodness  !  what's  that  ?" 

He  had  been  interrupted  by  a  loud  splash,  apparently  proceed- 
ing from  a  rock  some  forty  or  fifty  yards  off. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  seal,"  said  he ;  and  thereupon  he  began 
to  tell  his  companions  an  exciting  story  of  an  elderly  and  near- 
sighted gentleman  who  came  back  to  his  hotel  one  day  complain- 
ing that  he  had  fired  three  bullets  at  a  seal,  but  missed  him  each 
time ;  and  of  a  negro  who  came  running  in  to  declare,  in  wrath 
and  indignation,  that,  while  bathing,  he  had  been  fired  at  three 
times  from  the  shore,  and  had  his  ear  cut  off.  Every  body  knew 
that  that  true  legend  was  about  three  minutes  old. 

By-and-by  they  set  off  again  for  the  shore,  and  when  they  had 
put  up  Mr.  Maclean's  boat,  they  proceeded  to  walk  away  up  into 
the  hills,  where  the  moonlight  was  shining  coldly  on  the  stone 
walls,  the  furze  bushes,  and  the  scattered  patches  of  corn.  The 
voices  of  two  young  girls  broke  the  silence  of  the  night,  singing 
an  old  school -song  they  had  often  sung  together.  Then  they 
bid  farewell  to  the  magic  world  of  moonlit  sea,  and  mountains, 
and  sky  ;  and  a  peaceful,  beautiful,  and  memorable  day  came  to  a 
welcome  end.     If  one's  life  could  all  be  made  up  of  such ! 


ABRA.  189 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


So  the  brisk,  bright  days  and  weeks  went  by ;  and  the  cease- 
less round  of  activities  in  the  open  air — whether  the  blue  seas  lay 
shining  in  the  light,  or  the  fierce  south-west  winds  sent  the  foam 
flying  high  over  the  rocks — brought  glad  health  and  happiness 
to  this  little  band  of  strangers,  and  plenty  of  sun-brown  to  their 
faces.  Violet  had  by  this  time  quite  simply  and  naturally  fallen 
into  her  position  in  the  household.  She  felt  so  thoroughly  at 
home  that  she  never  thought  of  the  time  when  she  had  been  only 
a  visitor;  and  to  her  friends  it  seemed  as  though  she  had  always 
been  with  them.  She  would  have  been  well  content  —  as  she 
frankly  told  Mrs.  Warrener  one  evening — to  spend  the  rest  of  her 
life  with  them  up  here  in  this  Highland  cottage. 

A  woman  can  not  occupy  a  place  in  a  household  without 
having  some  sort  of  occupation ;  and  it  was  almost  insensibly 
that  Miss  Violet,  while  helping  Mrs.  Warrener  in  certain  things, 
managed  to  create  a  new  series  of  duties  for  herself.  These  had 
for  their  open  and  ostensible  object  the  greater  care  and  comfort 
of  that  somewhat  shy  potentate  who  presided  over  this  household 
of  women ;  and  it  is  probable  that  any  other  man  than  himself 
would  have  been  embarrassed  by  these  attentions.  He  accepted 
them,  however,  as  a  matter  of  course,  which  greatly  pleased  the 
giver  of  them,  who  never  felt  so  proud  and  glad  as  when  he  asked 
her  to  do  something  for  him — not  in  the  language  in  which  one 
would  beg  a  favor  from  a  visitor,  but  in  a  much  more  curt  and 
familiar  way.  So  it  came  about  that  no  one  thought  of  inter- 
fering with  Miss  Violet  in  her  self-imposed  duties,  which  were 
performed  with  a  scrupulous  care  and  accuracy.  When  Mr. 
Drummond  came  down  of  a  morning,  he  never  noticed  that  his 
slippers  were  invariably  in  the  same  spot;  that  his  table-napkin 
was  never  missing;  that  the  newspaper  which  had  arrived  by 
post  was  carefully  opened,  cut,  folded,  and  placed  beside  his  plate. 
His  shooting-boots  and  leggings  were  always  at  hand  the  moment 


190  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

he  wanted  them;  his  gun  —  which  seemed  to  keep  marvelously 
clean,  although  Peter  absolutely  declined  to  polish  it  every  day — 
awaited  him  in  the  corner ;  there  were  always  the  proper  number 
of  cartridges  in  the  bag.  Nay,  she  had  succeeded  so  far  in  be- 
coming his  henchman  that,  after  having  assisted  him  on  several 
occasions  in  measuring  out  powder  and  shot  for  the  cartridges, 
she  had  made  bold  to  make  the  cartridges  herself,  out  and  out, 
and  never  were  cartridges  more  accurately  constructed.  She  kept 
a  game-book  ;  but  she  refused  to  compare  the  number  of  cartridges 
she  made  with  the  number  of  entries  in  that  small  volume.  His 
pocket  -  flask  was  always  mysteriously  full ;  she  invariably  pre- 
pared the  luncheon-bag ;  on  the  fine  days  she  and  Amy  would 
walk  out  to  meet  him — and  he  could  recognize  the  proud  and 
graceful  carriage  of  the  girl  a  mile  off — and  on  the  wet  days  she 
had  dry  socks  and  slippers  awaiting  him.  No  matter  what  he 
wanted,  it  seemed  to  be  always  just  by ;  and  he  did  not  know 
what  pleasure  he  gave  her  in  falling  into  the  habit  of  invariably 
turning  to  her  with  a  "Violet,  I  wish  you  would  do  this;"  or 
"  Violet,  I  wish  you  would  do  that." 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  amused ;  but  ventured  to  remonstrate. 
"  Violet,  do  you  know  that  you  are  becoming  James's  slave  ?" 
The  girl  flushed  for  a  second ;  but,  all  the  same,  she  said,  with 
a  smile, 

"  I  don't  care,  so  long  as  I  have  so  good  a  master." 
As  for  him,  he  seemed  to  take  her  presence  in  the  house  as  a 
matter  of  course ;  and  made  fun  of  her,  or  lectured  her,  or  teased 
her,  with  an  absolute  freedom  of  intimacy  and  friendliness.  And 
yet  there  were  one  or  two  subtle  distinctions  between  his  treat- 
ment of  her  and  his  treatment  of  her  companions  which  she  did 
not  fail  to  notice.  In  walking  about  the  mountain-paths  in  the 
evening,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  the  hand  of  his  companion  ; 
but  he  never  took  Violet's  hand.  When  he  was  impressing  some 
profound  moral  truth,  in  enigmatical  language,  upon  his  sister  or 
his  niece,  he  frequently  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  pa- 
tient listener  to  enforce  his  precepts ;  he  never  put  his  hand  on 
Violet's  shoulder.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  seemed  to  recall  to 
himself  that  she  was  a  guest  in  the  house,  and  ought  to  be  treated 
with  a  special  kindness  and  respect,  rather  than  with  an  easy 
familiarity,  and  thereupon  he  would  make  some  essay  in  that  di- 
rection.    He  did  not  know  how  these  efforts,  at  once  perceived 


ABRA.  191 

by  the  quick  sensitiveness  of  the  girl,  wounded  her  to  the  heart ; 
so  that,  instead  of  being  pleased  by  his  gentle  courtesy,  she  was 
like  to  have  gone  away  to  her  own  room,  and  burst  into  tears  over 
what  seemed  a  rupture  of  the  old  and  friendly  relations  between 
the  master  and  his  slave. 

But  although  she  was  hurt  when  he  endeavored  to  treat  her 
with  respectful  consideration,  she,  on  the  other  hand,  was  fierce 
enough  if  any  one  failed  to  show  sufficient  respect  for  him.  If 
a  boatman,  encouraged  by  the  jocular  freedom  of  Drummond's 
manner  and  speech,  became  in  the  faintest  degree  familiar,  he 
received  a  reminder  there  and  then  which  he  was  not  likely  to 
forget.  She  had  completely  overawed  old  Peter;  who  was  at 
first  sulky,  then  betrayed  a  sort  of  grumbling  admiration  of  her 
courage ;  and  finally  said  she  was  a  fine  lass,  and  must  have  some- 
thing better  than  English  blood  in  her  veins.  Indeed,  she  seemed 
inclined  to  check  overfamiliarity  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Drummond's 
own  sister  and  niece.  The  master  of  the  house  was  the  master 
of  the  house. 

One  evening  he  had  just  got  home  from  the  shooting,  and  had 
been  stopped  at  the  door  by  his  sister,  who  called  attention  to 
the  singular  light  shining  across  the  sea.  The  sky  was  covered 
over  with  thick  purple  masses  of  thunderous  cloud — almost  black 
they  were,  indeed,  except  where  one  bold  slit  showed  a  glimpse 
of  the  high  sunny  green  of  the  sunset ;  while  underneath  this 
heavy  and  ominous  sky  a  great  flood  of  yellow  light  came  over 
from  the  west,  causing  the  masts  of  one  or  two  yachts  to  gleam 
like  silver  against  the  black  clouds. 

"  Why,  here  comes  Violet  up  the  road !  She  has  been  down 
persuading  Mr.  Morrison  to  give  us  a  piece  of  beef  for  to-morrow. 
He  won't  listen  to  any  body  but  her.  If  it  wasn't  for  her,  we 
should  have  nothing  but  mutton  from  one  week's  end  to  the 
other." 

The  girl  was  coming  along  the  valley  at  a  good  pace. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  rather  absently,  "  that 
it  is  a  happiness  to  me — a  positive  delight — merely  to  see  that 
girl  walk  ?  The  proud  gracefulness  of  her  figure,  the  freedom  of 
her  step — it  gives  one  a  sense  of  her  having  perfect  symmetry  of 
form  and  splendid  health — " 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  without  her,  now  we  have  got 
so  well  accustomed  to  her,"  said  his  sister,  ruefully. 


192  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  All,  yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  Avith  an  effort  to  look  brisk  and 
matter-of-fact ;  "  of  course  sue  will  go  ;  that  is  but  natural — the 
young  bird  flies  from  its  nest  as  soon  as  it  has  wings.  Well, 
Violet  has  made  our  little  place  brighter  since  she  has  been  with 
us." 

His  sister  stood  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said,  "  I  can  not  make  up  my  mind  about  that 
young  man.  Sometimes  I  like  him  ;  sometimes  I  hate  him.  If 
we  could  only  look  ahead  a  few  years,  we  should  know  better 
what  to  do — " 

"  You  forget,  Sarah,"  said  her  brother,  somewhat  stiffly,  "  that 
neither  you  nor  I  have  any  thing  to  do  with  that  matter.  Why 
should  you  talk  as  if  you  were  responsible?  The  girl  is  old 
enough  to  judge  for  herself." 

"  If  you  loved  Violet  as  I  do,  you  would  be  more  anxious," 
said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  sigh ;  for  she  could  not  understand 
how  her  brother,  ordinarily  so  solicitous  about  the  welfare  of  ev- 
ery one  around  him,  should  betray  an  absolute  indifference  as  to 
such  an  important  question  as  Violet  North's  marriage. 

The  conversation  was  in  any  case  broken  up  by  the  girl  her- 
self, who  came  up  through  the  steep  little  garden  with  a  fine  flush 
of  color  in  her  face,  and  with  gladness  in  her  dark  eyes.  She 
was  glad  to  have  secured  the  piece  of  beef ;  glad  to  have  escaped 
the  rain;  glad  to  have  Mr.  Drummond's  game-bag  to  explore. 
These  were  sufficient  reasons  for  the  bright  look  on  her  face  :  but, 
indeed  Mrs.  Warrener  had  remarked,  ever  since  their  arrival  in 
these  Highlands,  that  no  especial  cause  was  needed  to  bring  that 
happy  light  into  Violet  North's  eyes  which  now  always  dwelt 
there. 

"  Now,  Violet,"  she  said,  putting  the  girl's  hand  within  her 
arm,  and  taking  her  off  for  a  little  walk  round  the  plateau  (Mr. 
Drummond  having  gone  into  the  house),  "  I  have  a  secret  to  tell 
you.  That  is,  we  thought  of  keeping  it  a  secret — to  give  you  a 
surprise ;  but  perhaps  it  is  fairer  I  should  tell  you.  Mr.  Miller 
arrives  to-morrow  evening." 

Violet  stopped  suddenly,  and  unconsciously  withdrew  her  hand 
from  her  friend's  arm. 

"Why  should  that  be  a  surprise — or  a  secret  —  for  me?"  she 
asked,  coldly. 

Mrs.  Warrener  smiled  in  her  gentle  way  :  the  pretense  of  indif- 


ABRA.  193 

ference  on  the  part  of  those  girls  about  their  lovers  was  charm- 
ing. 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  friend  of  yours,  Violet,"  she  said,  with 
demure  sarcasm. 

"  I  hope  it  is  as  a  friend  of  your  own  that  you  have  asked  him 
to  your  house,"  responded  the  girl.  "  I  should  have  said  that  we 
were  happy  enough  without  him." 

This  was  a  little  too  much. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Violet,  you  will  not  be  pleased  to  see 
him  ?"  her  friend  asked ;  but  the  question  was  hardly  a  serious  one. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him — as  I  should  be  to  see 
any  other  friend,"  answered  Miss  Violet,  with  the  same  proud  in- 
difference. "But — but  I  thought  we  were  comfortable  enough 
without  visitors — and  I  hope  it  is  not  on  my  account  that  you 
have  asked  Mr.  Miller  to  come  here." 

Her  cheeks  began  to  turn  red,  and  it  was  clear  that  affectation 
of  indifference  was  rapidly  going. 

"  I  scarcely  think  it  is  fair,"  she  was  beginning  to  say,  in  quick- 
er accents,  when  Mrs.  Warrener  gently  stopped  her. 

"  Don't  be  vexed,  Violet.  Of  course,  a  girl  does  not  like  to 
have  her  private  feelings  known,  or  even  guessed  at,  where  a  gen- 
tleman is  concerned ;  and  I  must  tell  you  at  once  that  Mr.  Miller 
would  have  come  to  see  us  whether  you  had  been  here  or  not. 
He  was  asked  to  come  a  long  time  ago.  He  is  very  fond  of 
shooting  and  yachting;  but  as  there  was  no  shooting  worth 
speaking  of,  James  thought  he  had  better  wait  till  now,  and  go 
with  us  in  the  Sea-Pyot — " 

"  Oh,  he  is  going,  is  he  ?"  said  Violet,  quickly. 

"  Yes ;  so  I  believe.  You  know  there  is  plenty  of  room  in  that 
big  boat." 

Nothing  more  was  said  at  the  moment.  Violet  made  some  ex- 
cuse, and  went  in-doors.  There  she  got  hold  of  Amy  Warrener, 
and  asked  that  young  lady  to  come  into  her  room  for  a  minute. 
She  shut  the  door,  and  sat  down. 

"  It's  all  over  now,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  all  over  now,  Violet?" 

Her  hands  were  folded  in  her  lap ;  her  eyes  fixed  idly  on  them. 

"All  the  pleasant  time  Ave  have  been  spending  up  here:  it 
seems  a  long  time,  and  yet  it  has  passed  quickly.  Good-bye  to 
it ;  I  shall  never  forget  it — never !" 

9 


194  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Violet  ?" 

"  A  stranger  is  coming  to-morrow,  and  every  thing  will  be  dif- 
ferent." 

"  A  stranger !     Do  you  call  Mr.  Miller  a  stranger  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  knew  about  it,  too  ?"  said  Miss  Violet,  raising  her 
eyes  quickly.     "  Why  was  it  all  kept  secret  from  me  ?" 

"  Why?"  said  the  younger  girl,  with  some  embarrassment.  "  I 
suppose  mamma  fancied  you  would  not  care  to  have  such  things 
spoken  about." 

"  What  things  ?"  she  demanded,  almost  fiercely. 

Her  young  companion  was  gentle  enough ;  but  even  she  could 
be  goaded. 

"You  know  quite  well  you  are  engaged  to  him,  Violet;  and 
what  is  the  use  of  making  a  mystery  about  it  ?"  she  said,  sharply. 

"  I  know  quite  well  I  am  nothing  of  the  sort ;  I  know  quite 
well  I  shall  never  be  engaged  to  him — never !"  said  the  girl,  vehe- 
mently.    "  Engaged  to  him  ?     I  wish  he  was  dead !" 

"Oh,  Violet!" 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  wish  that,"  she  said,  with  some  com- 
punction, "  but  I  really  can  not  bear  to  have  it  supposed  we  are 
engaged,  or  likely  to  be ;  and  what  will  his  coming  here  do  but 
make  discomfort  and  misery?  Haven't  we  been  happy  enough 
by  ourselves? — we  don't  want  any  body  else.  And  then  it  ap- 
pears he  is  to  go  with  us  in  the  Sea-Pyot.  Well,  if  he  goes  in 
the  Sea-Pyot,  I  know  somebody  who  won't ;  and  the  initials  of 
her  name,  as  the  Irishman  said,  are  Violet  North." 

This  was  uttered  with  considerable  decision.  Now,  Amy  War- 
rener,  young  as  she  was,  had  a  good  deal  of  her  mother's  shrewd 
and  quiet  common  sense ;  and  instead  of  fighting  this  determina- 
tion by  any  argument  or  appeal,  she  only  said,  simply, 

"  It  won't  look  very  friendly,  Violet,  if  you  alone  refuse  to  go 
with  us;  and  Mr.  Miller,  as  a  stranger  and  visitor,  is  entitled  to 
whatever  courtesy  we  can  show  him.  It  isn't  his  fault  if  you 
don't  like  him.  Then,  you  didn't  always  appear  to  dislike  him 
so  much — I  thought  it  was  quite  the  other  way  at  one  time ;  and 
now  if  you  treat  him  badly,  he  will  think  you  are  only  acting  the 
coquette,  and  wanting  to  show  your  independence." 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  thinks,"  she  said,  with  her  cheeks  hot, 
but  looking  down. 

"  Others  will  think  the  same." 


SETTING    OUT.  195 

"  "Who  ?"  And  again  she  looked  up  with  a  quick  surprise  and 
inquiry  in  her  glance. 

"All  of  us." 

"  You  —  will  —  all — think — that —  I — am — a — coquette,"  she 
said,  slowly. 

"  Well,"  said  her  friend,  doubtfully,  "  you  know  you  encouraged 
him  a  great  deal." 

"And  to  save  myself  from  that  reproach,"  she  continued,  quite 
as  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  "  to  keep  your  good  opinion,  I  must 
marry  Mr.  George  Miller  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  that  question. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SETTING    OUT. 

Mr.  George  Miller  arrived  in  due  course ;  and  very  hand- 
some the  young  fellow  looked,  as  he  stepped  ashore  from  the 
steamer  to  shake  hands  with  his  friends  on  the  quay.  Violet 
had  been  persuaded  to  accompany  the  others ;  and  she  could  not 
help  greeting  him  with  a  pleasant  smile  :  indeed,  there  was  some- 
thing in  this  sudden  meeting  that  recalled  other  days.  With 
great  prudence,  too,  he  forbore  to  express  any  special  pleasure  in 
seeing  her  again.  She  was  only  one  of  the  little  group  of  friends. 
He  addressed  himself  almost  exclusively  to  Mrs.  Warrener,  as 
they  proceeded  to  find  their  way  up  to  Castle  Bandbox. 

Nor,  on  this  first  evening,  were  any  of  Violet's  predictions  ful- 
filled. All  the  happy  old  time  had  not  completely  gone.  They 
were  quite  as  joyous  and  homely  as  ever ;  and  a  certain  discursive 
orator  had  as  large  a  share  of  that  talk  which  could  only  by 
courtesy  be  called  conversation ;  that  is,  nobody  else  had  a  share. 
Mr.  Miller  laughed  and  enjoyed  himself  with  the  rest ;  he  did  not 
embarrass  Violet  with  the  least  specialty  of  attention ;  his  whole 
interest  was  apparently  absorbed  in  his  chances  of  getting  a  shot 
or  two  before  starting  in  the  yacht,  and  in  the  prospects  held  out 
by  the  Sea-Pyot  of  a  comfortable  voyage.     All  was  so  far  well. 

It  was  only  by  degrees,  and  that  almost  imperceptibly,  that  his 
influence  in  this  small  household  began  to  tell.     He  was  a  young 


196  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

man  of  system,  of  minute  observation,  of  careful,  business  -  like 
provision,  and  could  not  understand  at  all  the  happy-go-lucky 
carelessness  which  marked  most  of  Mr.  Drumtnond's  arrange- 
ments. With  him  a  nine-o'clock  breakfast  meant  a  nine-o'clock 
breakfast ;  not  a  breakfast  at  ten,  or  half-past  nine,  or  a  quarter- 
past  eight,  as  chance  might  dictate.  For  the  first  time  his  friends 
perceived  that  the  pattern  of  the  wall-paper  was  rather  ludicrous, 
and  that  a  defect  in  the  frame-work  of  the  window  produced  a 
draught.  They  were  ashamed  to  confess  they  could  not  tell  him 
whether  the  local  whisky  was  under  or  over  proof ;  indeed,  none 
of  them  knew  exactly  what  proof  meant.  There  was  now  no 
vague  loitering  on  the  hills  for  the  contemplation  of  landscape, 
nor  needless  waste  of  time  over  luncheon :  the  ground  that  had 
to  be  got  over  was  got  over  in  a  proper  fashion.  Moreover,  there 
was  much  less  missing  now.  The  young  man  showed  himself  an 
excellent  shot,  and  there  was  no  amount  of  fatigue  or  discomfort 
which  he  would  indolently  shirk  if  he  believed  there  was  a  chance 
of  getting  a  single  bird.  Old  Peter  had  enough  of  it  now :  he 
was  pretty  nearly  walked  off  his  legs  by  this  new  pupil ;  while 
his  former  pupil  ignominiously  gave  up  the  chase,  lighted  a  pipe, 
stretched  himself  on  the  heather,  where  he  could  command  a 
view  of  Morven,  Mull,  and  Lismore,  and  told  his  companions  to 
come  back  that  way  for  him  when  they  chose. 

Moreover,  the  incorrigible  carelessness  of  the  head  of  the  house 
became  all  the  more  apparent,  for  his  accoutrements  now  lacked 
much  of  Violet's  superintendence.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
come  down  early — before  any  of  the  others — to  look  after  his 
cartridge -bag,  his  boots,  leggings,  and  what  not;  but  now  she 
never  appeared  till  breakfast  was  announced,  and  then  she  inva- 
riably came  down -stairs  with  Amy.  They  generally  found  Mr. 
Miller  impatiently  pacing  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house,  and 
looking  at  his  watch  every  third  minute. 

They  had  beautiful  moonlight  nights  at  this  time ;  and  they 
were  accustomed  to  go  out  for  a  stroll  after  dinner,  either  up  into 
the  black  hills,  where  the  wan  and  mystic  light  was  palely  shin- 
ing on  the  furze  and  rocks,  or  down  to  the  shore,  where  the  long, 
monotonous  rush  of  the  waves  on  the  coast  alone  disturbed  the 
profound  and  mysterious  silence.  Here,  too,  there  was  a  great 
difference.  The  party  was  broken  up  somehow.  Violet  resolute- 
ly  and   invariably  walked   with   Amy  Warrener,  chatting,  when 


SETTING    OUT.  197 

they  did  chat,  about  school-girl  themes ;  Mrs.  Warrener  generally 
staid  with  them  ;  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  guest  led  the  way,  the 
latter  giving  all  the  latest  information  about  big-company  swindles, 
stock-exchange  transactions,  the  cooking  at  the  Judaeum,  and  so 
forth. 

"  Why  do  you  never  talk  to  Mr.  Miller,  Violet  ?"  Amy  War- 
rener asked  one  night. 

"  I  don't  understand  politics ;  and  I  don't  care  about  commer- 
cial matters,"  replied  the  young  lady,  evasively. 

"  I  don't  mean  that  at  all,"  her  friend  said.  "  Why  do  you 
scarcely  ever  address  a  word  to  him,  even  at  dinner?" 

"  Good  little  girls  should  be  seen,  and  not  heard.  I  speak  when 
I  am  spoken  to,"  was  the  reply. 

It  was  very  clear  that  Violet  did  not  at  all  care  for  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Miller  in  Castle  Bandbox.  She  seemed  restrained  and  dis- 
pirited. A  sort  of  indefinite  apprehension  appeared  to  hang  over 
her,  which  Mrs.  Warrener  did  not  fail  to  notice. 

Now,  Mr.  Miller,  from  the  moment  of  his  arrival  in  the  High- 
lands, had  been  most  considerate  to  the  girl,  and,  whatever  he 
might  judge  to  be  her  feelings  toward  him,  he  had  not  sought  to 
intrude  himself  upon  her  in  the  slightest  degree.  But,  after  all, 
a  young  man  is  but  a  young  man ;  and  he  grew  to  think  that, 
considering  their  past  and  present  relations,  she  was  dealing  very 
harshly  with  him  in  so  obviously  and  systematically  avoiding  any 
private  conversation  with  him.  His  difficulty  was  to  find  an  op- 
portunity of  speaking  with  her  alone ;  and  it  almost  appeared  as 
if  she  recognized  the  fact,  and  was  determined  to  outwit  him. 

At  last  he  caught  her.  She  had  inconsiderately  ventured  down 
to  breakfast  without  her  ordinary  companion,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  Mrs.  Warrener  had  preceded  her.  When  she  opened 
the  door  of  the  room  and  saw  Mr.  Miller  there  alone,  she  would 
have  retreated,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  for  a  second." 

She  knew  what  was  coming :  she  advanced  into  the  room,  out- 
wardly calm,  but  inwardly  full  of  dread.  She  was  vaguely  aware 
that  his  face  was  pale. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  ?" 

"  No." 

She  spoke  in  so  low  a  voice  that  he  could  hardly  hear. 

"  Why  do  you  avoid  mc  so  ?     Why  won't  you  speak  to  me  ?" 


198  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  not  persecuted  you,  ever  since  you  seemed 
to  wish  to  be  left  free.  Haven't  I  done  every  thing  you  could 
wish?" 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  she  answered,  with  a  trifle  more  emphasis. 

"  Then  why  do  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  an  enemy— as  if  you 
were  afraid  of  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  hope  I  don't  do  that,"  she  said ;  but  her  eyes  were  still 
fixed  on  the  ground. 

For  a  second  or  two  she  stood  irresolute,  and  then  she  seemed 
to  summon  up  her  courage  to  speak  frankly. 

"And  if  I  am  afraid  of  you,  in  however  slight  a  degree,"  she 
said,  in  clear,  low  tones,  M I  have  myself  to  blame.  I  am  deeply 
to  blame — I  know  that.  I — I  wish  I  had  never  seen  you,  nor 
you  me ;  that  would  have  been  better  for  both  of  us." 

"  No,  no,  Violet,"  he  said,  kindly,  and  he  came  a  step  nearer ; 
"  that  is  what  every  girl  says — natural  timidity,  you  know  :  she 
doesn't  know  what  is  before  her,  and  is  afraid.  For  my  part,  I 
am  very  glad  we  have  met,  whatever  comes  of  it ;  and  if  you 
would  only  give  me  a  chance,  I  should  soon  cure  your  mind  of 
all  that  apprehension.  But  how  can  I  do  that  if  you  always 
avoid  me  ?  Don't  you  think  it  is  hardly  fair  ?  Would  you  treat 
any  other  friend  of  yours  like  that  3" 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  only  sure,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  despairing 
earnestness,  "  that  Ave  were  friends,  and  only  friends,  how  glad  I 
should  be  to  do  all  you  wish !  Believe  that  of  me,  anyway.  If 
you  would  only  let  me  think  that — if  you  were  satisfied  with  that 
— I  should  be  so  grateful  to  you  !     Will  you?" 

She  was  looking  at  him  now,  with  her  eyes  full  of  entreaty. 
He,  on  the  other  hand,  appeared  to  be  wholly  astounded. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  you  have  hinted  this  once  or  twice 
before.  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  abandon 
all  hope  of  our  being  any  thing  to  each  other  ?" 

It  was  precisely  what  she  did  wish ;  but  there  was  a  reproach 
in  his  tone  which  she  felt  keenly ;  and  for  the  sake  of  old  times 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  wound  him  too  cruelly. 

"  No,  not  altogether,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  We  need  not  be- 
come strangers ;  we  might  always  remain  friends.  If  I  could 
only  persuade  you  not  to  think  of  any  thing  else  !" 

He  was  deeply  mortified,  of  course  ;  and  yet  he  could  not  quite 


SETTING    OUT.  199 

believe  her.  Her  liking  for  him  had  been  declared  years  ago. 
There  was  no  obstacle,  that  he  could  see,  to  the  marriage.  He 
had  not  even  a  rival. 

At  this  moment  steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs.  He  seized  her 
hand  for  a  second,  and  said,  rapidly, 

"  Don't  make  this  final,  Violet.  There  is  some  misunderstand- 
ing.    You  must  let  me  hope." 

She  did  not  answer  as  she  left  the  room  ;  but  there  was  that 
in  her  face  that  rendered  him  somewhat  uneasy.  Was  it  true, 
then,  that  her  aversion  from  all  thought  of  marriage  with  him 
was  something  more  than  mere  girlish  timidity  ?  Was  it  true 
that  she  really  wished  him  to  abandon  all  hope  of  securing  her 
for  his  wife  ? 

He  put  on  his  cap  and  went  out  into  the  fresh  morning  air ;  he 
wished  to  be  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  for  there  was  something 
about  all  this  that  he  could  not  well  understand.  Again  and 
again,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  bit  of  gravel,  he  tried  to 
account  for  Violet's  change  of  feeling  toward  him — or,  at  least, 
for  her  change  of  intention ;  and  he  could  see  no  reasonable  ex- 
planation. At  this  moment  he  heard  Mr.  Drummond  inside  call- 
ing "  Violet !  Violet !"     A  wild  fancy  struck  him. 

Was  it  true  that  he  had  no  rival  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that 
the  girl  had  let  her  declared  admiration — her  worship,  almost — 
of  this  man  of  eight-and-thirty  run  into  a  more  passionate  feel- 
ing ?  The  mere  suspicion  sent  a  flash  of  fire  tingling  through  his 
heart ;  and  he  found  himself  rapidly  running  over  a  series  of  in- 
cidents, unnoticed  at  the  time,  which  now  appeared  to  give  at 
least  plausibility  to  this  random  conjecture. 

In  the  most  commonplace  of  natures  there  is  always  enough  of 
imagination  to  fan  the  fires  of  jealousy.  The  relations  existing 
between  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  girlish  pupil  now  assumed  a 
wholly  different  complexion.  In  his  first  flush  of  anger  and  sur- 
prise and  envy,  the  young  man  was  ready  to  accuse  his  friend  of 
having  inveigled  Sir  Acton  North's  daughter  into  his  house  that 
he  might  marry  an  heiress. 

But,  after  all,  Mr.  Miller  was  a  sensible  and  prudent  young  fel- 
low. He  reasoned  with  himself.  Was  it  likely  that  this  gay- 
hearted,  handsome  girl,  rejoicing  in  all  the  boundless  hopes  and 
activities  of  youth,  should  give  away  her  life  to  a  moping,  dream- 
ing, middle-aged  man,  who  had  just  enough  money  to  keep  a 


200  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

moderately  decent  coat  on  his  back  ?  She  was  very  fond  of  him 
— as  his  niece  was.  She  had  a  profound  admiration  for  him — as 
his  sister  had.  Mr.  Miller  reasoned  himself  out  of  his  first  glow 
of  belief  and  anger ;  but  he  went  in  to  breakfast  in  a  somewhat 
sullen  and  suspicious  mood. 

Now,  indeed,  the  smallest  trifles  were  magnified  in  the  young 
man's  alarmed  imagination.  He  noticed  how  she  brought  the 
newspaper  and  placed  it  beside  a  certain  cup.  He  felt  sure  that 
she  had  been  out  to  bring  in  the  fresh  bell-heather,  ferns,  mari- 
golds, and  fuchsias  for  the  table.  When  all  had  sat  down  to 
breakfast,  he  observed  that  Mr.  Drummond  addressed  most  of  his 
chance  remarks  to  her;  and  that  she  invariably  looked  up  with  a 
bright  glance  of  gratitude  when  he  did  so. 

A  sufficiently  trifling  incident  occurred.  Mr.  Drummond,  like 
most  rather  shy  and  sensitive  folks,  had  a  nervous  dislike  to  be- 
ing watched  by  furtive  glances,  especially  at  meal -times.  He 
would  infinitely  have  preferred  to  go  without  mustard,  or  butter, 
or  any  thing  of  that  sort,  rather  than  be  reminded  that  some  one 
was  continually  observing  his  plate.  Now,  on  this  occasion  he 
happened  to  look  up,  and  finding  his  sister's  eyes  fixed  curiously 
on  him,  he  called  out, 

"  On  my  solemn  word  of  honor,  Sarah,  I  am  only  going  to  eat 
an  egg.     Is  there  any  thing  awful  in  that  ?" 

His  sister  looked  shocked  and  offended ;  whereupon  he  con- 
tinued, in  great  good-humor, 

"  I  declare  that  there  is  in  the  world  only  one  human  being 
with  whom  it  is  comfortable  to  have  breakfast — wlp  leaves  you 
alone  to  struggle  with  your  fish-bones — who  never  turns  her  eyes 
upon  you  except  when  she  speaks  to  you :  who  is  it  ?  Do  you 
all  give  it  up  ?" 

"  It  is  Violet,  of  course,  uncle,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  with  a 
laugh.     "  Violet  is  always  right." 

Now  surely  there  was  not  much  in  complimenting  a  girl  for 
minding  her  own  plate  at  a  breakfast  -  table ;  but,  all  the  same, 
the  young  man  looked  upon  the  innocent  exclamation  of  Violet's 
school-fellow  as  only  confirming  some  of  his  gloomiest  suspicions. 
But  he  would  observe  still  before  speaking  or  acting. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  great  bustle  convulsing  the  ordinary 
quiet  of  Castle  Bandbox,  in  the  midst  of  which  no  one  had  time 
to  notice  how  Violet  treated  her  former  lover.     Every  one  was 


SETTING    OUT.  201 

preparing  for  the  approaching  voyage  in  the  Sea-Pyot;  Mr. 
Drummond  making  the  wildest  suggestions  about  potted  meats, 
condensed  milk,  and  baskets  of  soda-water ;  Mrs.  Warrener  mak- 
ing more  sober  calculations  about  the  necessary  stores  for  a 
week's  cruise;  the  girls  anxious  about  water-proofs  and  thick 
shoes ;  and  Mr.  George  Miller,  with  great  care  and  accuracy  of 
method,  getting  his  fishing-tackle  into  order.  They  knew  they 
were  about  to  play  at  keeping  house,  just  like  so  many  children ; 
and  every  one  pretended  to  know  a  vast  deal  about  those  very 
things,  which,  in  serious  living  on  land,  they  had  treated  with 
indifference. 

The  Sea-Pyot,  which  they  could  now  distinguish  lying  at  her 
moorings  in  the  bay,  was  a  yawl  of  some  thirty-two  tons  register 
and  about  fifty  tons  yacht  measurement ;  but  she  was  an  exceed- 
ingly roomy  and  comfortable  vessel,  considering  her  size.  She 
had  a  fairly  commodious  ladies'  cabin,  a  couple  of  state-rooms 
for  single  gentlemen,  and  a  spacious  saloon — no  less  than  twelve 
feet  six  inches  in  beam.  For  the  rest,  she  was  any  thing  but  a 
quick  sailer  with  light  winds ;  but  she  could  stand  a  thoroughly 
stiff  breeze  with  absolute  safety,  and  then  she  could  do  her  nine 
or  ten  knots  an  hour.  She  was  worked  by  four  men  and  a  lad, 
the  latter  officiating  as  cook  and  steward. 

It  was  universally  resolved  that,  as  Miss  Violet  was  the  most 
experienced  voyager  of  the  party,  she  should  go  on  board  and 
overhaul  the  table-linen,  locker  accommodation,  bedding,  perma- 
nent stores  and  the  like ;  and  this  commission  was  gladly  accept- 
ed, while  stipulating  that  the  others  should  accompany  her.  It 
was  with  the  eager  excitement  of  a  party  of  discovery  that  they 
entered  the  gig  which  had  been  sent  on  shore  for  them,  and  were 
pulled  out  to  the  yacht.  The  skipper — a  handsome,  good-humor- 
ed-looking man  of  thirty-five  or  so,  with  a  sun-tanned  face  and  a 
light-yellow  beard,  who  was  an  old  friend  and  ally  of  Mr.  Drum- 
mond's  —  received  them  with  much  ceremonious  dignity  at  the 
gangway,  and,  in  showing  them  over  his  ship,  seemed  particularly 
anxious  to  gratify  the  tall  young  lady,  who  was  continually  ask- 
ing him  abrupt  and  business-like  questions.  She  was  graciously 
pleased  to  express  her  approval  of  the  whiteness  of  the  decks,  the 
spaciousness  of  the  saloon,  and  the  painting  of  the  sky-lights,  but 
she  was  of  opinion  that  the  small  state-room  next  the  forecastle 
ought  to  have  been  a  pantry,  and  she  gently  but  firmly  remon- 

9* 


202  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

strated  with  Captain  Jimmy  for  not  having  a  swinging-table  in 
the  lower  cabin. 

"That  is  true,  mem,"  said  the  yellow -bearded  skipper,  with 
just  a  trace  of  Highland  accent,  "  I  hef  often  said  that  to  Mr. 
Sinclair,  and  it  will  only  cost  five  pounds  the  more." 

"  Come,  Violet,  it  isn't  fair  to  look  a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth. 
You  ought  to  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  Mr.  Sinclair,"  said  Mr. 
Drummond. 

"  So  I  am,"  she  said,  doubtfully ;  "  but  suppose  she  is  lying 
well  over  from  the  wind,  how  are  we  to  get  any  thing  to  eat  and 
drink?" 

"Hold  on  to  your  glass,  and  make  the  plates  steady  each 
other." 

"  Then  supposing  we  are  beating  up  to  windward,  every  time 
she  is  put  about  every  thing  will  go  flying  across  to  the  other 
side." 

"  Well,  the  people  on  the  other  sido  can  catch  them." 

"  In  their  lap  ?" 

"Why  not?'" 

However,  there  were  no  great  fears  on  that  score,  and  the  party 
returned  home,  only  regretting  that  a  night  must  intervene  before 
starting.  A  great  joy  of  expectation,  indeed,  prevailed  through 
Castle  Bandbox  that  evening,  for  tho  talk  was  all  of  the  wonder- 
ful places  they  would  see,  and  of  the  wonderful  adventures  they 
Avould  meet,  and  no  one  had  any  suspicion  that  they  were  taking 
a  Jonah  on  board. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

RAIN,  WIND,  AND    SPEED,' 


Fierce  and  glad  was  the  weather  in  which  the  Sea-Pyot  spread 
out  her  great  white  wings  and  prepared  for  her  northward  flight. 
From  over  the  tumbling  Atlantic  came  varying  gusts  and  squalls ; 
the  main-boom  swung  this  way  and  that,  and  the  loud  flapping 
of  the  sails  drowned  the  clanking  of  the  windlass ;  rushing  by 
went  the  huge  green  waves  to  the  shore  ;  and  the  hurrying  clouds, 
as  they  came  sweeping  over  from  the  sea — causing  the  islands  to 


"  RAIN,  WIND,  AND    SPEED."  203 

disappear,  and  re-appear,  and  disappear  again — sent  sudden  show- 
ers across  the  vessel's  decks,  and  made  the  voyagers  tighten  up 
still  farther  the  necks  of  their  water-proofs.  Above  and  below 
the  same  confusion  and  bustle  prevailed :  nobody  knew  whether 
the  fresh  butter  had  been  called  for  and  brought  aboard ;  excited 
questions  were  asked  about  the  joints  hung  at  the  stern ;  and  the 
voice  of  one  tall  person  was  heard  declaring,  in  the  most  solemn 
language,  that  he  would  blow  up  the  powder-magazine,  destroy 
the  bulkheads,  and  lash  the  taffrail  to  tbe  topgallant-mast,  if  some- 
body did  not  help  him  to  stow  away  the  bottled  beer.  Then 
there  was  a  sudden  cessation  of  noise  overhead.  Gradually  the 
saloon  tilted  over,  and  there  was  a  muffled  sound  as  of  rushing 
water  outside.  When  the  person  who  had  been  stowing  away 
the  beer  put  his  head,  which  was  adorned  by  a  huge  sou' -wester, 
up  the  companion-way  and  looked  around,  behold !  the  Sea-Pyot 
was  running  gallantly  out  to  sea,  the  tack  of  her  mainsail  still 
hauled  up,  and  Captain  Jimmy,  with  the  rain  running  down  his 
ruddy  face,  observing  to  a  young  lady  who  stood  beside  him  that 
he  could  not  as  yet  relinquish  to  her  the  tiller. 

"  This  is  a  nice  sort  of  day  to  start  in !"  observed  a  young  man, 
who  was  gloomily  trying  to  keep  the  rain  from  getting  inside  the 
neck  of  his  water-proof. 

"What  better  could  you  wish  for?"  she  answered,  with  a 
bright  laugh.     "  How  fast  is  she  going,  Captain  Jimmy  ?" 

The  skipper  glanced  at  the  water  running  by.         • 

"  About  echt  knots,  I  think ;  but  we'll  get  a  bit  more  wind  by- 
and-by,  when  we  get  round  Lismore." 

"  Couldn't  you  let  us  have  the  topsail  up  ?"  she  asked,  throwing 
a  critical  glance  upward. 

A  shrewd,  cautious  smile  appeared  on  Captain  Jimmy's  face. 

"  She'll  go  ferry  well  without  the  topsail  in  a  little  while ;  and 
it  iss  better  not  to  be  too  eager.  You  will  get  plenty  of  sailing 
when  we  will  be  going  up  the  Sound." 

And  indeed  there  was  a  good  deal  of  sailing  when  once  they 
had  got  round  the  light-house  of  Lismore  and  were  beating  up 
the  Sound  of  Mull.  A  heavy  sea  was  rolling  down  the  Sound ; 
the  wind  freshened  further  until  it  dipped  the  bulwarks  of  the 
Sea-Pyot  in  the  rushing  waves;  and  the  voyagers,  sitting  on 
deck-stools  up  to  the  windward,  had  to  hold  on  by  such  objects 
as  were  handy  to  prevent  their  suddenly  rolling  down  the  slippery 


204  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

decks.  Where  were  the  mighty  mountains  of  Mull  and  of  Morven 
that  they  had  gazed  at  from  afar  on  many  a  still  summer  morn- 
ino-  ?  The  voyagers  were  close  to  them — running  up  the  channel 
that  divides  them,  in  fact — but  all  that  could  be  seen  were  but 
dim  and  vague  shadows  behind  the  cold  gray  curtains  of  the 
mist.  Water  and  sky  seemed  one ;  the  gusts  of  wind  were  also 
gusts  of  rain ;  the  sea-swallows  that  flashed  about,  dipping,  dart- 
ing, and  uttering  shrill  cries,  seemed  but  as  ghosts  in  the  aqueous 
vapor.  And  yet  the  voyagers  appeared  so  little  disconcerted  by 
the  weather  they  were  encountering  that  their  mirth  grew  wilder 
as  the  wind  blew  more  fiercely ;  and  the  seas  that  came  thunder- 
ing on  the  bows  of  the  yacht,  and  sending  showers  of  spray  right 
over  the  crouching  figures,  were  only  met  by  derisive  shouts  of 
laughter.  Only  one  of  these  figures  remained  silent  and  sullen. 
Mr.  George  Miller  did  not  seem  to  enter  much  into  the  sport.  It 
was  the  private  notion  of  at  least  one  of  his  companions  that  the 
plunging  of  the  Sea-Pyot  among  the  waves  was  rendering  the 
young  man  uncomfortable ;  but  such  was  not  the  fact.  Neither 
the  motion  of  the  vessel,  nor  the  fierce  rain,  nor  the  numbing 
position  in  which  he  was  compelled  to  sit,  was  responsible  for  the 
gloomy  preoccupation  of  Violet's  suitor.  He  had,  indeed,  other 
things  to  think  about. 

Yet  surely,  on  board  a  yacht,  in  such  weather,  there  could  be 
little  to  increase  his  suspicions.  It  is  true  that  both  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  and  Violet  were  obviously  enjoying  themselves ;  that  gen- 
erally Mr.  Drummond  addressed  to  her  his  profound  impressions 
of  life  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot ;  and  that,  indeed,  both  of  them 
seemed  bent  on  amusing  themselves  just  as  if  they  were  a  couple 
of  children.  And  then,  when  Violet  went  below  to  see  that  the 
lad  Duncan  was  properly  laying  the  cloth  for  luncheon,  and  to  as- 
sist him  in  ferreting  out  the  secrets  of  the  lockers,  no  one  volun- 
teered to  help  her  but  Mr.  Drummond,  simply  because  he  had 
stowed  most  of  the  things  away,  and  that  in  a  fashion  which  no 
one  else  could  understand. 

That  luncheon  was  rather  a  desperate  business — as  Miss  Violet 
had  predicted  on  her  round  of  inspection.  They  were  beating 
up  the  Sound,  with  a  short  starboard  tack  and  a  long  larboard 
tack ;  and  as  the  latter  offered  more  continued  quiet,  while  the 
vessel  did  not  heel  over  quite  so  much,  it  was  resolved  that  they 
should  drop  below  as  soon  as  the  Sea-Pyot  had  her  larboard  tack 


"  RAIN,  WIND,  AND    SPEED."  205 

aboard.  Mr.  Miller  would  remain  on  deck — he  was  not  hungry. 
And  very  soon  he  heard,  through  the  sky-light  of  the  saloon, 
amazing  shouts  of  despair  and  shrieks  of  laughter,  with  now  and 
again  an  ominous  jingle  of  falling  plates  and  spoons.  In  fact, 
the  scene  below  was  at  first  nothing  but  a  wild  scramble ;  for  no 
sooner  had  the  plates  been  got  out  from  the  locker  and  spread  on 
the  table  than  they  immediately  began  to  slide  down  to  leeward, 
a  stately  procession  which  was  joined  by  the  ham,  by  a  cold  pie, 
and  two  decanters.  Of  course,  there  was  a  wild  clutching  at  this 
object  and  that,  all  being  secured  except  the  cruet-stand,  which 
had  outstripped  its  companions  in  the  race,  and  flung  itself  head- 
long— mustard,  vinegar,  and  all — into  Miss  Amy's  lap,  who  was 
not  prepared  for  the  charge,  for  she  was  clinging  on  to  the  bread- 
plate.  When  she  had  wrathfully  retired  to  change  her  clothes, 
and  come  back  again  to  resume  her  place,  order  had  been  restored 
by  a  skillful  arrangement  of  objects,  and  luncheon  was  allowed  to 
proceed. 

Alas  !  the  time  lost  could  not  be  recovered ;  and  just  as  they 
were  beginning  to  consider  that  life  on  board  a  yacht  had  its 
compensations,  there  was  an  ominous  call  above,  "  Ready  about !" 
The  yacht  seemed  to  right  herself;  the  table  resumed  its  natural 
level. 

"  They  are  putting  her  about,"  observed  Violet,  who  had  pick- 
ed up  some  slight  knowledge  of  sailing  in  her  travels. 

But  she  failed  to  recollect  that  the  ingenious  arrangement  of 
objects  on  the  table  had  been  successful  with  one  side  of  the  table 
up ;  now  that  side  went  down,  and  there  was  another  wild  stam- 
pede on  the  part  of  knives,  bottles,  dishes,  and  loaves,  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  Nay,  that  was  not  the  worst.  In  the  midst  of  the 
confused  seizure  of  these  things  —  with  Mrs.  Warrener  utterincr 
sharp  cries  of  warning — an  awful  sound  was  heard  in  one  of  the 
adjoining  state-rooms.     Mr.  Drummond  looked  grave. 

"  You'd  better  go  and  see  what  it  is,  James,"  his  sister  said, 
keeping  firm  hold  of  the  pie  until  it  should  be  buttressed  up. 

He  went,  and  came  back  with  a  serious  face. 

"  My  gun-case,"  he  observed,  calmly,  "  has  fallen  on  the  ewer ; 
the  ewer  has  been  pitched  against  my  bed  ;  the  bed  is  swimming 
with  water ;  and  the  ewer  is  broken." 

"  Oh,  James !"  his  sister  said,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  to  put  that  great 
heavy  thing  on  the  floor,  or  in  the  bed  itself,  and  not  on  a  shelf  ?" 


20G  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"Do  you  think,"  said  he,  "there  would  be  much  chance  of 
getting  the  blankets  dried  on  deck  ?" 

The  question  was  not  so  foolish  as  it  looked,  for  when  they 
went  above  again,  they  found  that  the  rain  had  entirely  ceased, 
the  rain-clouds  were  withdrawing  up  the  hills,  and  the  great  lone- 
ly mountains  of  Mull  and  Morven  were  being  slowly  revealed. 
\Vhat  a  desolate  coast  it  looked  in  this  sombre,  gray  light !  The 
dark  and  leaden  sea  broke  in  white  along  the  gloomy  rocks; 
gaunt  gray  precipices  here  and  there  led  up  to  a  silent  wilderness 
of  heather  ;  and  across  the  bare  slopes  of  the  hills  the  white  mists 
moved  like  great  troops  of  ghosts — armies  that  met  and  parted, 
that  met  and  mingled  together  in  a  silent  strife  —  obeying  the 
mysterious  behests  of  the  spirits  of  the  winds.  And  by-and-by 
a  curious  and  suffused  light  began  to  declare  itself  behind  these 
moving  veils  of  mist ;  higher  slopes  of  the  mountains,  hitherto 
unseen,  became  visible  in  a  ghostly  fashion ;  the  glow  of  light  in- 
creased ;  and  then,  as  the  clouds  parted  and  passed  on,  the  bright 
warm  sunshine  sprung  down  in  their  wake,  and  the  mighty  hills 
shone  in  resplendent  greens  and  yellows.  The  decks  of  the  Sea- 
Pyot  soon  dried  up;  water-proofs  were  thrown  aside,  and  now 
the  rolling  waves  had  dashes  of  blue  in  them  where  they  caught 
the  color  of  the  opening  sky. 

"  That  is  the  way  with  this  coast,"  observed  Mr.  Drummond, 
who  had  lighted  his  pipe,  and  contentedly  stretched  out  his  legs 
on  the  white  deck ;  "  the  weather  changes  every  thirty  minutes, 
and  the  scenery  every  thirty  seconds.  Miller,  why  don't  you  go 
below  and  get  something  to  eat?" 

"  Thank  you.     By-and-by,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Shall  I  go  down  and  get  some  things  out  for  you  ?"  Violet 
suggested. 

This  was  a  kind  offer,  for  the  young  lady  had  been  intrusted 
with  the  tiller  —  under  the  superintendence  of  Captain  Jimmy, 
who  stood  hard  by  —  and  she  was  amusing  herself  with  various 
small  experiments  as  to  how  near  the  Avind  the  Sea-Pyot  would 
sail. 

"  Oh  no  ;  don't  you  trouble,"  he  answered. 

"Here,  Captain  Jimmy,  take  the  rope,"  she  said.  "My  arms 
can't  hold  out  any  longer.  Come  along,  Mr.  Miller :  Duncan  and 
I  will  get  you  something." 

He  could  not  very  well  refuse  so  friendly  a  proposal ;  and  so 


"  RAIN,  WIND,  AND    SPEED."  207 

at  last  he  got  up,  threw  off  his  water-proof,  and  followed  her  down 
the  twisting  companion-stairs.  A  small  bell  summoned  Duncan 
into  the  saloon.  And  now  Mr.  Miller  found  himself  the  object 
of  those  very  attentions  which,  since  his  arrival  in  the  Highlands, 
he  had  observed  Violet  pay  to  Mr.  Drummond.  She  played  the 
part  of  handmaiden  to  perfection ;  and  he  could  not  do  otherwise 
than  appear  grateful  to  her.  And  yet  he  was  dimly  conscious 
that  her  manner  toward  him  was  not  that  she  displayed  toward 
Mr.  Drummond.  She  was  solicitous  about  his  comfort,  it  is  true ; 
but  it  was  with  a  friendly,  half-patronizing  solicitude  such  as  an 
old  campaigner,  if  bent  on  kindness,  might  show  to  an  inexperi- 
enced young  person  encountered  by  chance.  It  was  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent way  that  she  treated  Mr.  Drummond.  With  him  she  was 
all  meekness  and  submission ;  she  was  content  to  remain  a  silent 
listener  so  long  as  he  pleased  to  speak ;  such  little  services  as 
she  could  render  him  were  all  done  in  an  underhand,  unobtrusive 
manner,  as  if  she  would  rather  not  have  them  noticed. 

"  Don't  you  wait  down  here,  Violet,"  said  he  ;  "  I  am  sure  you 
would  rather  be  up  on  deck." 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  carelessly ;  "  I  have  constituted  myself  chief 
cook  and  steward  on  board,  for  I  don't  think  Duncan  is  up  to 
much,  and  I  must  see  every  body  properly  fed.  As  soon  as  you 
have  finished,  I  want  the  table.  I  mean  to  surprise  Mr.  Drum- 
mond with  an  apricot- jam  pudding  at  dinner;  you  will  see  his 
look  of  wonder  when  that  appears." 

"  I  should  have  thought  so  profound  a  philosopher  would  not 
have  cared  for  such  trifles,"  remarked  Mr.  Miller. 

"  It  is  because  he  is  a  philosopher,"  said  Violet,  warmly,  "  that 
he  cares  for  both  little  things  and  great  things." 

"  Including  apricot-jam." 

"  I  don't  see  any  harm  in  any  one  liking  apricot-jam.  I  like 
it  myself — I  am  most  particularly  fond  of  it." 

"  Well,  of  course ;  you  show  yourself  a  most  docile  pupil  all 
day  long." 

She  took  no  notice  of  the  sneer  against  herself,  for  she  was 
bent  on  clearing  her  master  and  teacher  from  the  deadly  charge 
that  had  been  preferred  against  him. 

"  If  there  is  any  body  in  the  world  that  puts  little  store  by 
eating  and  drinking  and  such  things,  it  is  Mr.  Drummond.  He 
is  not  one  of  the  men  who  live  only  to  get  good  dinners  and  a 


208  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

lot  of  money.  He  is  the  most  unworldly  and  unselfish  man  I 
have  ever  seen  or  heard  of." 

There  was  a  little  extra  color  in  her  face.  The  young  man, 
who  was  husy  with  the  cold  pie,  did  not  answer ;  perhaps  he  was 
afraid  of  saying  all  he  thought  just  at  that  moment. 

Violet  rang  the  bell. 

"  Duncan,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Miller  has  finished,  will  you  clear  the 
table,  please?  And  get  me  the  flour  and  things,  and  an  empty 
bottle,  if  you  haven't  a  roller.  When  will  the  men  have  their 
dinner?" 

Duncan  paused  for  a  minute ;  his  English  was  not  fluent. 

"  I  think,  mem,  when  we  get  into  Loch  Sunart." 

"  Then  I  will  make  a  pudding  for  them  too ;  and  you  can  have 
that  first,  for  we  sha'n't  want  dinner  till  seven." 

"  Very  well,  mem." 

"Would  you  kindly  ring  the  bell  when  you  have  finished?" 
she  asked,  somewhat  coldly,  of  Mr.  Miller ;  and  then  she  turned 
and  left  the  saloon,  and  went  on  deck. 

By  this  time  they  had  got  well  past  Loch  Salen,  and  right 
ahead  of  them  lay  the  open  Atlantic,  with  Tobermory  light-house 
on  their  left,  and  on  their  right  the  gaunt  precipices  of  Ardna- 
murchan  Point  running  out  to  the  ocean.  The  sun  was  wearing 
round  to  the  west ;  and  a  warmer  light  lay  over  the  vast  panora- 
ma of  mountains,  shores,  and  sea.  The  wind  had  gone  down  a 
bit,  too ;  and  Captain  Jimmy  was  looking  forward  to  the  time 
when,  having  got  up  to  the  mouth  of  Loch  Sunart,  he  should  be 
able  to  alter  the  course  of  the  Sea-Pyot  and  let  her  run  in  before 
the  wind  to  her  anchorage  for  the  night. 

Mrs.  "Warrener  linked  her  hand  within  Violet's  arm,  and  led  her 
forward  a  bit,  apparently  the  better  to  command  a  view  of  the 
open  sea. 

"Violet,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  Mr.  Miller?" 

"  Nothing,"  the  girl  answered. 

"  There  is  something  the  matter  with  him :  you  see  that." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  replied ;  and  then  she  said,  with  proud  indif- 
ference, "  I  have  done  nothing  to  offend  him  that  I  know  of.  If 
he  chooses  to  make  himself  unpleasant,  how  can  I  help  it?  Look 
at  him  now  —  reading  a  book,  and  taking  no  notice  of  all  this 
wonderful  place.  V\Te  may  look  forward  to  a  delightful  trip  if 
he  keeps  on  in  that  way." 


"  RAIN,  WIND,  AND    SPEED."  209 

"  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  gently,  "  you  ought  not  to  speak 
of  him  like  tliat ;  you  ought  to  make  excuses  for  him." 

"  Why  should  I,  any  more  than  any  one  else  ?  I  wish  to  be  as 
friendly  with  him  as  with  any  one ;  but  when  I  see  him  making 
this  return  for  your  brother's  kindness  in  asking  him  to  go  with 
us—" 

"  Oh,  James  doesn't  mind.     Probably  he  doesn't  see  it." 

"I  wish  I  could  believe  he  was  sea- sick,"  said  Violet,  rather 
cruelly.  "  But  it  isn't  that,  for  he  has  been  smoking  cigars  all 
day.  People  say  that  on  board  a  ship  is  a  dreadful  place  for 
making  people  quarrel ;  but  we  haven't  been  on  board  here  long 
enough,  surely.  There  is  one  thing,  however,  certain  enough. 
A  ship  is  a  bad  place  to  bottle  up  inflammable  materials  in.  If 
he  imagines  himself  wronged  or  hurt  in  any  way,  there  will  be 
an  explosion — and  that  before  long." 

She  was  right  in  her  conjecture,  as  events  were  soon  to  prove ; 
but  in  the  mean  time,  could  any  thing  be  more  peaceful  and 
peace  -  suggesting  than  the  scenes  through  which  the  Sea-Pyot 
was  now  gently  bearing  them  ?  They  had  turned  aside  from  the 
broad  waters  of  the  Sound,  and  were  now  running,  before  a  light 
breeze,  into  a  long  and  winding  loch  that  lay  between  hills  and 
mountains  of  singular  beauty  of  form  and  color.  The  solemn 
evening  light,  touching  the  higher  peaks,  seemed  to  add  to  the 
silence  and  loneliness  of  the  shadows  below*  where  the  gray  heron 
stood  motionless  under  the  black  rocks,  and  here  and  there  the 
dark  head  of  a  seal  appeared  in  the  smooth  waters  of  the  suc- 
ceeding bays.  It  was  without  a  sound  that  the  Sea-Pyot  glided 
past  the  successive  headlands ;  but  her  arrival  was  announced 
from  time  to  time  by  the  far  call  of  the  curlew,  startling  the  si- 
lence of  the  place,  and  awakening  answering  cries  from  other  sea- 
birds  along  the  coast.  At  length  they  sailed  into  a  solitary  little 
bay,  where  the  water  was  almost  without  a  ripple,  and  here  the 
impressive  stillness  that  reigned  around  was  suddenly  broken  by 
the  loud,  harsh  rattle  of  the  chain-cable  as  the  anchor  plunged. 
The  curlews  whistled  their  warning-note  as  they  fled  along  the 
shore ;  the  sea-pyots  screamed  shrilly  as  they  flew  away  across 
the  loch,  skimming  the  water  in  their  flight;  a  single  heron,  ut- 
tering a  low,  harsh  croak,  heavily  lifted  his  long  wings  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  gathering  twilight.  Then  all  was  peace  again  ; 
ami  the  darkness  came  gently  down  over  the  mountains,  and  over 


210  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

the  still  bosom  of  the  lake,  until  one  could  scarcely  make  out  the 
shore. 

If  the  prosaic  details  of  yachting  had  been  prominent  during 
the  day,  they  were  no  longer  so  in  the  mystic  silence  of  the  night 
as  the  stars  came  out  over  the  hills,  and  the  ripple  against  the 
side  of  the  vessel  broke  in  a  million  sparks  of  phosphorescent 
fire.  Then  the  moon  arose ;  and  the  shore  and  the  hills  began 
to  appear  again  in  the  glowing  light,  until  another  world  stood 
revealed,  cold  and  silent  and  still.  The  red  glow  of  the  cabin 
sky-light  was  the  only  point  of  intense  color  in  all  this  pale  pict- 
ure ;  even  as  in  the  yacht  itself,  where  peace  and  silence  seemed 
to  prevail,  there  was  but  one  fierce  and  hidden  fire — in  a  man's 
heart. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER. 


At  this  point,  and  in  common  courtesy  to  his  readers,  the 
writer  of  these  pages  considers  himself  bound  to  give  fair  warn- 
ing that  the  following  chapter  deals  solely  and  wholly  with  the 
shooting  of  mergansers,  curlews,  herons,  and  such  like  fearful 
wild  fowl ;  therefore,  those  who  regard  such  graceless  idling  with 
aversion,  and  are  anxious  to  get  on  with  the  story,  should  at  once 
proceed  to  chapter  twenty  -  three.  There  is  no  just  reason,  one 
might  urge,  why  fiction  should  speak  only  of  those  days  in  a 
man's  life  in  which  something  supremely  good  or  supremely  bad 
happened  to  him — jumping  over  the  far  greater  number  of  days  in 
which  nothing  particular  happened  to  him — and  thereby  recording 
the  story  of  his  life  in  a  jerky,  staccato,  impossible  manner.  Des- 
tiny is  not  forever  marching  on  with  majestic  stride  ;  even  the  hor- 
rid Furies  sometimes  put  away  their  whips.  Give  a  man  a  gun, 
place  him  on  a  highland  loch  on  a  still  day  in  August,  show  him  a 
few  dark  specks  swimming  round  the  distant  promontories,  and 
he  will  forget  that  there  is  even  such  a  thing  as  to-morrow.  To 
write  out  the  whole  story  of  his  life  in  this  fashion  would,  of 
course,  be  impossible ;  for  it  would  be  twenty  times  as  long  as 
the  longest  Japanese  drama  in  existence ;  while  the  death-rate 
among  the  readers — say  twenty-four  in  a  thousand  per  annum — 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  211 

would  interfere  with  the  continued  attention  demanded  by  the 
author.  But  occasionally,  in  the  briefest  story,  one  of  these  idle 
and  unnaeniorable  days  ought  to  come  in,  just  to  show  that  the 
people  are  not  always  brooding  over  the  plan  of  their  lives. 
Anyhow — and  this  is  the  long  and  short  of  it — three  out  of  five 
of  the  passengers  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot  are  going  in  pursuit  of 
mergansers,  and  the  gentle  reader  is  entreated  to  grant  them  this 
one  holiday,  which  will  be  the  last  of  its  kind. 

"  What  else,  indeed,  could  they  do  ?  There  was  no  wind  to 
take  them  out  of  the  beautiful  little  bay  in  which  they  were  an- 
chored. When  Violet  came  up  and  saw  how  still  and  clear  the 
water  was  —  small  fish,  "cuddies,"  could  be  seen  at  a  wonderful 
depth — she  immediately  darted  down  again  and  brought  up  with 
her  one  of  the  bottles  out  of  the  cruet-stand. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the  world  ?"  she 
called  out. 

When  they  confessed  they  had  not,  she  emptied,  regardless  of 
expense,  the  contents  of  the  mustard-pot  into  the  sea,  close  by 
the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  immediately  the  great  shining  depths 
beneath  them  were  filled  with  particles  of  glittering  gold,  the  sun 
gleaming  on  them  as  they  slowly  sunk,  and  causing  the  sea  to 
look  as  if  it  were  so  much  Goldenesivasser  from  Dantzig. 

"  That  is  a  pretty  trick,  Miss  Violet,"  remarked  a  tall  gentle- 
man standing  there.  "  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  fill  that  bottle 
again  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,"  remarked  the  young  lady,  with  much 
coolness,  as  she  went  below. 

"  Now,  Jimmy,"  continued  Mr.  Drummond,  turning  to  the 
skipper,  with  whom  he  had  been  talking,  "  you  don't  really  mean 
to  say  that  a  seal  flung  stones  at  you  ?  Come,  now — I  will  make 
every  allowance  for  winter-time — and  idleness — and  the  necessity 
of  stories ;  but  you  know,  Jimmy,  that  is  a  little  too  much — " 

"I  declare  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  yellow -bearded,  brown -com- 
plexioned  man,  with  some  Highland  vehemence,  "  it  is  as  true  as 
you  are  standing  there.  Is  it  stones  ?  Tarn  him,  he  nearly  felled 
my  head  off  wi'  stones  as  big  as  your  hand,  and  bigger.  For  I 
was  in  a  boat  when  I  shot  at  him  ;  and  I  sah  he  couldna  get 
down  to  the  watter;  and  I  knew  that  I  had  struck  him.  And 
when  I  got  on  the  shore  to  run  up  to  him,  tarn  him,  he  began  to 
fling  the  stones  at  my  head ;  and  he  did  not  fling  them  as  a  man 


212  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

would  fling  them,  but  backward,  with  his  head  turned  away  from 
you;  and  you  should  hef  seen  how  he  will  catch  the  stones  up 
with  his  fins,  or  his  hands,  or  whatever  it  is.  And  there  was  no 
use  waiting,  sir,  so  I  will  run  up  to  him  as  hard  as  I  could,  and  I 
will  fall  on  him  then,  and  catch  him  round  the  head,  and  it  was 
no  more  stones  he  will  fling  after  I  had  the  grip  of  him.  See ! 
sir,  see ! — there  is  one  now — going  into  the  weeds." 

About  sixty  yards  off,  making  in  for  the  shore,  they  could  de- 
scry a  round  brown  object,  moving  from  side  to  side.  Young 
Miller,  who  had  his  gun  in  his  hand,  instantly  put  it  up  to  his 
shoulder ;  Drummond  as  quickly  caught  the  barrels  and  turned 
them  aside. 

"  By  the  ashes  of  my  grandfather,  there  shall  not  be  a  shot 
fired  at  a  seal  while  we  are  in  these  waters !  "What  is  the  use  ?  If 
you  wound  him,  he  dives;  if  you  kill  him,  he  sinks;  and  if  you 
got  him,  what  would  you  do  with  him  ?  The  skin  is  worth  noth- 
ing.    Then  he  is  the  most  harmless  and  gentle  creature — " 

"  Especially  when  he  throws  stones  at  you." 

"  Wouldn't  you  throw  stones,  or  any  thing  else,  at  any  one 
who  had  peppered  you  with  a  charge  of  duck-shot  ?" 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  shoot  when  we  go  out  to-day  ?"  inquired 
the  younger  man,  with  some  resentment.  "  You  have  got  up  a 
regular  list,  now,  of  things  that  must  not  be  touched.  If  they 
only  knew,  the  birds  and  beasts  might  come  on  board  here  as  a 
sort  of  sanctuary — " 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  we  must  shoot.  First  of  all,  that 
abominable  wretch,  the  curlew,  for  he  is  a  screaming  tell-tale,  and 
he  is  likewise  very  good  to  eat.  Then  I  believe  those  gentle 
creatures  below  are  rather  anxious  to  have  some  heron's  feathers ; 
you  may  shoot  a  heron  or  two  when  you  get  the  chance — only 
they  don't,  as  a  rule,  come  and  perch  on  the  point  of  your  barrels. 
But,  above  all,  we  must  slay  duck  —  wild  duck  —  the  bird  that 
looks  inelegant  in  the  air,  but  beautiful  on  the  table  —  him  we 
must  seize  by  fair  means  or  foul,  else  we  shall  have  nothing  to 
break  the  monotony  of  mutton  for  days  and  days  to  come,  and 
we  may  even  run  short  of  mutton,  if  we  come  to  a  place  where 
the  postmaster  hasn't  been  killing  lately.  Three  or  four  miles 
from  here,  up  one  of  the  side  lochs,  Jimmy  says  the  place  swarms 
with  duck,  and  there  will  be  some  that  are  flappers  yet.  I  grieve 
to  think  of   destroying  these  young   things  before  they  have 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  213 

grown  tired  of  the  world ;  but  Jimmy  says  they  are  exceedingly 
good  to  eat.  Of  course,  if  these  duck  had  any  sense,  they  would 
give  up  eating  grass  and  fresh-water  weeds,  and  take  to  sea-weed, 
and  shrimps,  and  young  jelly-fish,  and  so  on,  until  they  grew  as 
fishy  as  a  fine,  old,  rich-flavored  solan.  Then  people  would  let 
them  alone." 

"  But  this  is  salt-water  we  have  here." 

"  Yes." 

"And  it  is  salt-water  in  the  loch  we  are  going  up  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  what  are  the  wild  duck  doing  here,  if  they  live  on  fresh- 
water weeds !" 

"  I  don't  know.  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  am  informed  that  wild 
duck  abound  here  in  great  numbers ;  I  have  seen  birds  resem- 
bling duck  swimming  in  the  loch ;  I  have  asked  if  they  were 
widgeon — no,  they  are  not  widgeon  ;  that  is  all  I  know." 

"  Perhaps  they  come  down  from  the  mountain  streams  to  have 
a  swim  in  the  loch." 

"  Perhaps  they  do.  We  will  shoot  them,  and  ask  them  for  an 
explanation." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  that  forenoon  that  the  gig  was  lower- 
ed and  two  stalwart  young  fellows  got  in  to  hand  down  the  guns, 
cartridge-bags,  luncheon-baskets,  etc.  Just  as  Mr.  George  Miller 
had  taken  his  station  at  the  bow,  the  men  on  the  thwarts,  and 
Mr.  Drummond  at  the  stern,  and  as  they  were  about  to  bid 
"Good-bye"  to  those  left  on  board  the  yacht,  it  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  Miss  Violet  that  she  would  like  very  much  to  join  this 
shooting  expedition.  She  pleaded  earnestly.  Mr.  Miller  opened 
his  eyes  wide,  and  said  she  had  better  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
Mr.  Drummond,  looking  up  from  his  seat  in  the  stern,  said, 

"Are  you  willing  to  have  your  ears  dinned?" 

"Quite." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  being  shot  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  sit  near  you :  if  I  were  six  yards  off,  I  should  be." 

This  insult  was  too  much. 

"  Give  way,  lads,  give  way  !"  he  called  out. 

"  No  !  Don't !  AVait  a  minute  !"  she  called  out  also ;  and  the 
men  stopped. 

"Please,  Mr. Drummond,  let  me  go  with  you,  and  I  shall  be 
most  respectful  to  you  the   whole  time.     You   want  somebody 


214  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

to  bring  back  the  story.  You  could  not,  ydur  two  selves,  begin 
to  tell  all  the  wonderful  things  you  did.     Please  let  me  go  I" 

"  Come  along,  then,"  and  he  rose  and  handed  her  down  into 
the  boat,  where  she  took  her  seat  beside  him.  In  another  minute 
or  two  the  gig  was  well  away  from  the  yacht,  making  for  a  nar- 
row channel  in  the  loch  between  some  small  islands  and  the 
main-land. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  his  companion,  "  you  must  preserve  strict 
silence." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  obediently. 

Having  placed  this  injunction  on  her,  he  forthwith  proceeded 
to  descant  most  unconcernedly  on  the  quick  hearing  and  long 
sight  of  birds,  on  the  cunning  of  savages  in  capturing  wild  ani- 
mals, on  the  instinctive  yearning  in  civilized  life  for  a  brief  re- 
turn to  the  freedom,  physical  toil,  and  excitement  enjoyed  by  the 
savage  in  his  pursuit  of  game,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  She 
remained  absolutely  silent ;  but  there  was  a  demure  smile  about 
her  lips.  It  was  not  until  he  was  proceeding  to  expound  to  her 
that  the  radical  vice  of  the  English  political  character  was  its 
contempt  for  parochial  affairs  —  that  every  boy  fresh  from  the 
university  was  prepared  to  reform  the  Constitution,  but  would 
not  stoop  to  learn  any  thing  of  the  local  raising  and  application 
of  taxes,  and  so  forth,  that  she  ventured  to  say, 

"  Do  I  speak  more  loudly  than  you  ?  How  is  it  you  have  no 
fear  of  frightening  away  the  birds  ?" 

Just  at  this  minute  they  were  startled  by  a  loud  whirring  of 
wings  and  a  shrill  whistle;  and  a  large  gray  object  was  seen  to 
flash  along  the  front  of  the  rocks  ahead  of  them.  Bang !  bang  ! 
went  two  barrels  at  the  bow — the  bird  flew  on  and  disappeared. 
But  now  on  all  sides,  in  this  seemingly  silent  and  deserted  place, 
a  wild  confusion  arose.  Half  a  dozen  oyster-catchers  flew  out 
from  the  shore,  their  red  bills  and  legs  shining  in  the  sun,  and 
made  away  up  the  loch ;  everywhere  there  was  a  calling  of  cur- 
lews ;  a  flock  of  sandpipers  rose  and  twisted  about  in  the  air  ex- 
actly like  snipe  ;  two  or  three  herons,  with  slowly  flapping  wings, 
and  legs  hanging  down,  disappeared  over  the  nearest  promontory. 

"  "Why  didn't  you  shoot  that  curlew  ?"  Drummond  called  out. 

The  answer  showed  that  the  young  man  at  the  bow  had  been 
nursing  a  silent  rage  all  this  time. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  we  are  likely  to  shoot  any  thing 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  215 

so  long  as  you  go  on  talking  like  that,"  he  said,  sharply.  "  And 
I  knew  how  it  would  be." 

"Why,"  Drummond  called  out,  good-naturedly,  "the  bird 
wasn't  thirty  yards  off  when  he  rose ;  you  won't  get  such  another 
chance  at  a  curlew  if  you  wait  here  twenty  years." 

"  "Well,  I  think  we  may  as  well  go  back  to  the  yacht." 

"I  don't  think  you  can  swim  as  far,  can  you?  Never  mind, 
Miller ;  we  must  keep  quiet  now.  You  needn't  pull,  lads ;  the 
*  current  will  carry  us  through  those  channels.  Miller,  keep  a 
good  lookout." 

There  was  now  no  more  about  the  instinct  of  savages  or  the 
taxation  of  Camberwcll;  for  the  rising  tide,  producing  a  strong 
current  running  up  the  loch,  was  carrying  the  cutter  silently 
through  certain  twisting  channels  between  the  island  and  the 
shore.  The  shore  was  at  this  point  both  rocky  and  wooded — 
young  ash  and  birch  coming  down  in  many  places  close  to  the 
water;  while  round  the  islands  the  tide  was  still  low  enough  to 
display  a  broad  fringe  of  brown  sea-weed.  There  was  therefore 
every  chance  of  finding  plenty  of  wild  fowl  about. 

Silently  and  stealthily  they  stole  by  the  successive  promonto- 
ries, sometimes  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  heron  heavily  flying  away 
far  ahead  of  them,  and  again  listening  to  the  distant  call  of  the 
curlew.  Suddenly  Miss  Violet  touched  her  companion's  arm. 
A  heron  had  come  right  overhead;  flying  from  the  shore,  it  had 
discovered  its  mistake  too  late  to  turn  right  back,  and  was  now 
making  for  the  islands.  Miss  Violet  put  her  hands  to  her  ears, 
but  she  still  looked  up.  The  next  second  her  head  was  violently 
shaken  by  the  report  of  the  gun,  and  a  huge  confused  mass  of 
feathers  came  tumbling  down  into  the  sea,  some  five-and-twenty 
yards  off.  When  they  rowed  back  for  it  against  the  current  and 
hauled  it  on  board,  they  found  it  was  a  very  large  heron,  about 
three  feet  and  a  half  from  bill  to  claw,  and  in  very  fair  plumage. 
But  they  had  scarcely  got  the  heron  into  the  boat  when  their  at- 
tention was  called  to  a  flock  of  birds  that  had  risen  from  the 
shores  of  an  island  near,  and  were  twisting  this  way  and  that  in 
the  air,  the  flock  showing  white  one  minute  and  gray  the  next. 

"Surely  they're  snipe!"  called  out  Miller;  and  one  of  the 
sailors — who  seemed  to  have  as  much  interest  as  any  one  in  what 
was  going  on — called  out  in  reply, 

"  Ay,  they're  snipe,  sir  !  see,  there  they're  coming  round  now." 


216  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

The  flock  made  one  of  their  abrupt  wheels,  and  swept  by  the 
bow  of  the  boat  some  forty  yards  off.  Mr.  Miller  fired  both  his 
barrels  into  the  thick  of  them — anxious  to  have  the  larder  of  the 
yacht  supplied  with  such  goodly  prey — and  as  the  birds  sheered 
off  to  the  left,  Mr.  Drummond  sent  a  parting  shot  after  them. 
Three  fell. 

"  Only  three,  after  all  that  noise  !"  called  out  a  young  lady  who 
had  promised  silence. 

But  what  was  their  disgust,  on  pulling  up  to  the  birds  and* 
hauling  them  in,  to  find  that,  in  place  of  the  coveted  snipe,  they 
were  only  poor  little  sandpipers,  whose  fatal  resemblance  to  the 
snipe  in  their  length  of  bill  and  manner  of  flying  had  brought  on 
them  this  destruction.  The  disappointment  of  the  shooters,  how- 
ever, was  as  nothing  to  the  pity  expressed  by  their  gentle  com- 
panion, who  regarded  herself  as  an  accessory  to  this  slaughter  of 
the  innocents. 

"  You  can  eat  sandpipers,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Miller. 

"  You  can  eat  thrushes  and  nightingales,"  was  the  retort,  "  and 
who  wants  to  do  that  ?" 

By  this  time  they  had  drifted  through  the  narrow  channels, 
and  the  men  took  to  their  oars  again.  They  were  now  in  front 
of  a  broad  and  shallow  bay,  some  four  or  five  miles  in  circumfer- 
ence, the  smooth  waters  of  which  reflected  the  tender  colors  of 
the  great  mountains  lying  between  the  level  shores  and  the  sky. 
In  many  places  these  flat  shores  showed  long  stretches  of  white 
sand  coming  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  there  fringed  with  an 
abundance  of  weeds  that  offered  excellent  shelter  for  wild  fowl. 
Indeed,  they  could  now  descry,  at  several  points  near  the  land, 
certain  groups  of  dark  specks  moving  slowly  in  the  water;  at 
last  they  had  come  to  the  haunt  of  the  wild  duck. 

They  had  no  dog,  no  stalking-horse,  no  flat-bottomed  punt; 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  pull  straight  for  the  duck,  on  the 
chance  of  getting  a  shot  when  they  rose  and  wheeled  overhead. 
It  was  also  very  doubtful  whether  they  could  get  anywhere  near 
the  land,  the  water  in  this  broad  and  sandy  bay  being  so  shallow 
near  the  shore.  Already  in  the  far  crystal  deeps  they  could  de- 
scry the  long  tangles  of  the  sea-weed ;  they  seemed  to  be  passing 
over  the  transparent  roof  of  a  magical  marine  palace  garlanded 
by  the  mysterious  inhabitants  of  the  sea. 

The  five   birds  they  were  now  approaching   showed  no   sign 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  217 

either  of  getting  up  or  betaking  themselves  to  the  exposed  sea- 
weed of  the  rocks,  where  they  could  easily  have  hidden  them- 
selves. They  only  swam  a  little  more  actively  about  in  the 
water,  obviously  regarding  the  strangers,  and  perhaps  drawing  a 
trifle  nearer  to  the  shore.     At  last  Miller  said,  in  a  loud  whisper, 

"  Shall  I  fire  a  shot  to  put  them  up  ?  We  shall  be  aground 
directly." 

"All  right,"  was  the  answer. 

Miller,  who  was  crouching  down,  stealthily  put  the  barrels  of 
his  gun  over  the  bow,  put  the  stock  to  his  shoulder,  and,  taking 
a  long  and  steady  aim,  fired.  The  silence  of  the  bay  resounded 
to  the  report.  Then  Mr.  Drummond,  jumping  up  to  take  better 
aim,  looked  round. 

There  was  no  sign  whatever  of  the  duck.  Miller  had  seen  the 
shot  strike  the  water  all  round  them  and  over  them ;  but  they 
had  apparently  ducked  the  flash  so  successfully  that  not  a  feather 
remained  to  tell  of  their  having  been  there.  The  two  sportsmen 
stood  in  the  boat,  gun  in  hand,  in  momentary  expectation  of  see- 
ing one  of  those  black  objects  re-appear  on  the  surface  of  the  blue 
water.     They  waited  in  vain. 

Just  then  one  of  the  oarsmen  called  aloud  and  pointed  to  three 
duck  flying  almost  overhead,  at  a  considerable  height,  and  to- 
ward the  stern  of  the  boat.  It  was  but  a  hap-hazard  shot ;  but 
all  the  same  Mr.  Drummond  put  up  his  gun  and  fired. 

"I  have  him  this  time,"  he  said,  as  one  of  the  three  came  down 
like  the  stick  of  a  rocket  and  splashed  into  the  water.  Mr.  Drum- 
mond paid  no  attention  to  the  bird ;  he  was  busy  in  putting  an- 
other cartridge  into  the  empty  barrel ;  but  Violet  called  out, 

"  "Where  is  that  duck  ?     I  can't  see  him." 

There  was  no  duck  visible. 

"  Confound  it!"  said  Drummond,  "  I  never  saw  a  duck  like  that 
before." 

"  I  see  him,  sir — there  he  is  !"  cried  the  sailor  Alec ;  and  then 
the  two  men  plunged  their  oars  in  the  water  and  made  away  for 
the  spot  where  the  bird  had  come  up  —  some  hundred  yards  or 
so  from  where  it  had  fallen.  Directly,  however,  the  duck  dived 
again ;  and  was  no  more  seen,  though  they  waited  about  the 
place  for  five  or  six  minutes. 

They  would  try  again.  They  pulled  across  the  loch  —  with 
curlews  and  sea-pyots  and  sandpipers  screaming  and  flying  before 

10 


218  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

them — and  again  they  drew  near  a  group  of  those  dark  objects 
which  were  paddling  in  by  the  shore.  On  approaching  them, 
however,  these  birds  did  make  an  effort  to  rise ;  but  they  could 
only  whir  along  the  surface  of  the  water  for  a  short  distance, 
whipping  it  with  their  wings  as  they  went. 

"  By  Jove !  they  are  flappers,"  Drummond  called  out.  "  Pull 
away,  my  lads ;  you  shall  have  a  brace  for  your  dinner." 

The  young  duck  could  fly  no  farther ;  they  were  swimming  as 
rapidly  as  they  could,  looking  round  every  minute  at  the  enemy, 
who  was  rapidly  gaining  on  them.     At  length  Miller  called  out, 

"  We  must  fire  now,  or  they  will  dive :  take  the  outside  ones 
first." 

Again  the  silent  bay  resounded  with  the  loud  banging  of  the 
guns ;  and  one  after  the  other  the  charges  of  shot  struck  the 
water,  churning  it  into  a  white  foam.  The  seven  birds  had  sepa- 
rated, swimming  in  various  directions ;  so  that  the  aim  and  effect 
of  each  shot  were  clearly  visible.  By  rights  four  of  the  birds 
should  have  been  killed ;  for  apparently  four  charges  of  lead  had 
struck  down  on  them ;  but  when  the  smoke  had  cleared  away 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  one  of  the  birds  that  was  half  flutter- 
ing and  half  swimming  in  to  the  land.  For  a  second  or  two  they 
waited  to  see  if  any  of  the  other  six  would  come  up  again ;  they 
looked  in  vain :  in  their  bewilderment  they  called  on  the  men  to 
pull  after  this  remaining  duck,  which  was  at  least  visible. 

Visible  ?     That  had  disappeared  too. 

"  Will  any  body  tell  me,"  Mr.  Drummond  asked,  looking  round 
in  amazement,  "  whether  we  are  in  a  Highland  loch  or  in  some 
confounded  incantation-scene?  Alec,  my  lad,  do  you  really  say 
these  birds  are  wild  duck?" 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  the  young  sailor,  seriously,  "it  iss  sure  enough 
they  are  wild  duck ;  but  it  iss  not  easy  the  shooting  of  them,  for 
the  wicket  teffles  they  will  tife  and  hould  on  to  the  weeds  at 
the  bottom." 

"  No,  no,  no !"  Drummond  cried,  scornfully,  "  no  man  will  per- 
suade me  that  these  are  wild  duck.  Your  mallard  is  a  respectable 
and  gentlemanly  bird,  and  when  you  kill  him  he  dies,  and  there  is 
an  end  of  it.     Gracious  powers,  look  at  that !" 

He  pointed  to  the  clear  and  shallow  water,  and  they  could  see 
a  sort  of  wavy  track  in  it  some  few  yards  off.  Directly  after- 
ward they  saw  that  this  was  a  bird — probably  one  of  the  ducks 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  219 

that  had  dived  farther  out — swimming  under  the  water  with  sin- 
gular rapidity,  and  making  for  the  shore. 

"  We  must  have  this  fellow,  anyway,"  Drummond  called  out, 
"for  there  is  no  weed  at  all  there;"  and,  just  as  he  spoke, the  bird 
bobbed  up  its  head  and  looked  around.  Drummond  fired;  the 
shot  struck  the  water  exactly  at  the  proper  place ;  but  the  bird 
had  dived  before  it  reached  him.  The  bow  of  the  boat  grated 
on  the  sand ;  they  could  pull  no  farther  in.  But  once  again  the 
duck,  finding  no  shelter,  appeared  on  the  surface  of  the  water ; 
and  this  time  a  snap-shot  of  Mr.  Miller's  stretched  him  lifeless. 

"  The  wicket  wee  teffle,  we  hef  him  now !"  remarked  Alec,  as 
he  jumped  into  the  water  and  waded  across  to  the  bird. 

"  Now  let  us  examine  this  mystical  creature,"  Mr.  Drummond 
said,  "  and  if  it  proves  to  be  a  new  phenomenon — a  being  hither- 
to unknown  to  science — we  will  give  it  a  name.  I  suggest  Anas 
magica — " 

"  I  should  think  Jack-in-the-box  vulgaris  would  do,"  interposed 
Violet. 

The  mysterious  wild  fowl  was  here  handed  into  the  boat.  Cer- 
tainly it  bore  all  the  outward  signs  of  being  a  duck.  It  had  the 
ruddy-brown  and  gray-speckled  plumage  of  a  duck ;  it  had  the 
white  banded  wings  and  the  tail  of  a  duck ;  it  had  the  heavy, 
waddling  body  of  a  duck ;  it  had  the  webbed  feet  of  a  duck. 
The  only  apparent  point  of  difference  was  the  bill,  which,  instead 
of  being  short  and  flat,  was  long,  narrow,  and  pointed,  with  a  row 
of  small,  sharp,  serrated  teeth  on  each  side. 

"  Alec !"  Mr.  Drummond  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  I  believe  you 
have  deceived  me.     This  is  no  duck  at  all." 

"Ay,  sir,  it  iss  a  duck,"  Alec  maintained,  adding  philosophical- 
ly, "  and  it  iss  ferry  good  for  eating  whateffer." 

"  Why,  man,  look  at  the  bill — that  bird  lives  on  fish.  He  will 
taste  like  a  gannet  or  a  douker.  Why  —  now  when  I  think  of 
it  —  surely  it  must  be  —  I  am  certain  this  must  be  the  mergan- 
ser—" 

"The  what?" 

"  The  merganser.  I  never  saw  one ;  but  when  I  was  at  Ox- 
ford a  man  I  knew  there  shot  two  of  them,  one  very  hard  winter, 
quite  close  by  the  town  ;  and  I  have  a  vague  recollection  of  his 
believing  he  had  shot  a  brace  of  wild  duck.  Alec,  you  don't 
mean  to  say  that  you  call  this  animal  a  duck  2" 


220  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"It  iss  a  duck,  and  it  iss  no  others  you  will  get;  and  ferry 
good  they  are  for  the  eating,"  Alec  maintained,  sturdily. 

"Well,  well,  if  you  say  so,  we  must  try  to  get  some  more. 
How  many  cartridges  have  we  fired?  The  merganser  takes  a 
deal  of  powder  and  shot :  he  ought  to  be  good  for  the  eating." 

And  so  the  luckless  merganser  was  pitched  beside  the  dead 
heron ;  and  there  was  no  use  remaining  in  this  bay,  where  all  the 
birds  had  been  disturbed  by  the  firing  (even  the  gulls  were  wheel- 
ing high  in  the  air),  the  men  pulled  away  for  the  next  arm  of  this 
long  and  winding  loch.  The  world  had  grown  still  again,  save 
for  the  clanking  of  the  oars.  They  saw  one  or  two  seals  off  an 
island  lying  out  in  the  lake ;  their  black  heads  motionless  on  the 
smooth  water.  At  last  they  came  in  sight  of  a  long  promontory 
partly  covered  with  wood  ;  and  here  it  was  judged  advisable  that 
young  Miller  should  go  on  shore,  creep  round  by  the  wood,  and 
steal  out  to  the  end  of  this  promontory,  Avhile  Mr.  Drummond,  in 
the  boat,  would  lie  in  ambush  for  such  birds  as  might  be  driven 
his  way. 

The  young  man  went  off — picking  his  way  over  the  big  stones 
and  through  the  tall  weeds  that  here  lined  the  shore — and  by- 
and-by  they  saw  him  crouching  along  by  the  landward  hollows 
until  he  disappeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  promontory.  They 
awaited  the  result  of  his  expedition  in  absolute  silence.  Sudden- 
ly, however,  Violet  touched  her  companion's  arm.  A  heron — 
with  an  indiscretion  that  rarely  characterizes  that  most  wary  of 
birds — was  coming  slowly  down  the  loch,  and  apparently  about 
to  pass  the  boat  at  not  more  than  twenty  yards'  distance.  In- 
deed, he  had  got  to  within  thirty  yards  of  the  bow — flying  close 
to  the  water,  and  apparently  quite  heedless — when  he  sheered  off 
a  bit,  and  that  so  little,  that  he  remained  within  shot  for  at  least 
ten  or  twelve  seconds.     Mr.  Drummond  did  not  put  up  his  gun. 

"  One  is  enough,"  he  said,  indifferently ;  "  you  will  have  plen- 
ty of  feathers.  And  that  was  a  young  one — both  young  and 
foolish—" 

Here  they  heard  the  crack  of  Miller's  gun  ;  and  directly  after- 
ward it  seemed  as  if  these  silent  coasts  had  sprung  into  life. 
There  was  a  calling  and  shrieking  of  birds ;  another  shot,  and 
still  another,  followed  in  quick  succession;  three  or  four  herons 
appeared  over  the  promontory  (looking  huge  objects  against  the 
clear  sky),  and  rose  high  into  the  air  as  they  made  for  the  mount- 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  221 

ains — a  string  of  ducks  was  seen  to  shoot  across  the  loch,  fol- 
lowed by  another  shot  from  the  point — and  all  about  came  flying 
curlews,  and  gulls,  and  oyster-catchers,  the  last  flying  most  quiet- 
ly of  all,  with  their  white  and  black  plumage  gleaming  in  the  sun. 
Mr.  Drummond  had  his  gun  in  readiness  for  the  curlews ;  but  as 
they  successively  came  down  the  loch  they  caught  sight  of  the 
boat  and  got  easily  out  of  reach.  All  except  one  ;  and  that  one 
had  come  over  the  bushes  above  before  he  discovered  what  was 
lying  underneath.  He  gave  a  shrill  whistle  and  altered  his  flight ; 
but  it  was  too  late ;  the  next  second  he  was  lying  motionless  on 
the  still  water. 

At  this  moment  they  saw  young  Miller  on  the  top  of  the  prom- 
ontory, waving  to  them  with  his  cap. 

"  Pull  away,  boys,"  Drummond  said,  when  they  had  picked  up 
the  curlew.  "  I  suppose  he  wants  to  chase  some  more  of  these 
mergansers." 

When  they  came  up  to  the  promontory,  they  saw  several  ob- 
jects lying  on  the  water,  while  at  the  feet  of  the  young  man  lay  a 
heron  extended  on  the  rocks.  They  picked  up  the  birds  for  him 
—  two  sea-pyots  and  a  merganser — and  then  pulled  in  for  the 
shore,  where  they  all  landed  to  have  luncheon. 

"  What's  the  use  of  shooting  sea-pyots  ?"  Mr.  Drummond  asked. 
"  There  were  lots  of  curlew  about." 

"  I  shot  what  I  could  get  to  shoot,"  the  young  man  answered, 
testily.     "  I  haven't  seen  you  shoot  a  curlew  yet." 

"  You  might  have  done,"  was  the  careless  answer,  "  if  you  had 
been  in  the  boat.  However,  I  suppose  the  girls  will  be  able  to 
do  something  with  the  plumage — it  is  very  beautiful." 

"  No,  thank  you,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  Violet  said ;  "  I 
only  wanted  some  of  those  gray  feathers  of  the  heron.  It  seems 
a  pity  to  shoot  birds  for  no  reason  at  all." 

The  young  man  sat  down  to  his  luncheon  in  no  very  enviable 
mood.  He  was  convinced  that  if  Mr.  Drummond  had  shot  the 
oyster-catchers  she  would  have  found  reason  enough.  Fortunate- 
ly, he  was  not  dependent  on  the  caprices  of  a  girl ;  and  as  he  had 
come  out  to  enjoy  a  day's  shooting,  he  was  determined  to  enjoy 
himself  in  his  own  fashion  ;  and  she  might  continue  to  show  such 
preferences  as  pleased  her. 

Cold  mutton,  bread,  and  bottled  ale  are  very  welcome  things 
when  one  has  been  plunging  about  in  the  Highland  air  for  four 


222  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

or  five  hours;  and  then  there  was  a  soda-water  bottle  half  filled 
with  whisky  for  the  sailors,  who  had  their  share  of  the  luncheon 
in  the  boat.  They  Avere  now  within  sight  of  the  extremity  of 
this  arm  of  Loch  Sunart,  which  is  called  Loch  Tyachus,  or  some 
such  name ;  so  that  whatever  remained  to  them  of  shooting  was 
confined  within  this  long  and  shallow  bay,  which  was  even  larger 
than  the  one  they  had  previously  explored.  Moreover,  Alec  in- 
formed them  that  there  were  always  large  quantities  of  duck  up 
at  the  head  of  the  loch,  where  a  river  came  down  to  the  salt-wa- 
ter ;  and  it  was  a  matter  for  speculation  whether,  in  this  fresh 
water,  there  might  not  be  some  mallard  or  teal.  To  get  a  few 
ducks  of  this  description  would  guard  them  against  the  risk  of 
finding  the  mergansers,  in  spite  of  Alec's  vehement  assertions,  un- 
eatable. 

"  Do  you  see  those  cottages  away  up  there  at  the  head  of  the 
loch  ?"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  as  he  lighted  a  contemplative  pipe. 
"  Fancy  living  in  such  a  place — all  by  yourself — confronted  day 
and  night  by  those  lonely  mountains.  One  might  get  into  a  sort 
of  apprehensive  state  —  so  that  each  morning  you  might  get  up 
and  be  quite  surprised  that  the  whole  bubble  hadn't  burst  up — " 

"  What  bubble?"  asked  Violet,  innocently. 

"  Why,  the  earth.  You  couldn't  know  much  of  history  here ; 
and  even  then  history  is  but  a  point.  The  Romans  knew  no  more 
of  how  they  came  into  the  world  than  we  do ;  they  and  we  are 
but  as  one  in  that — and  in  the  point  of  time  too — and  to-morrow 
the  whole  business  might  be  cracked  up  by  a  collision,  and  the 
universe  go  on  without  heeding  that  trifling  and  common  occur- 
rence. I  don't  see  any  road  to  those  cottages.  If  the  people 
come  along  this  shore,  their  carts  must  have  strong  axle-trees. 
And,  in  passing,  a  lurch  might  mix  up  two  carts  just  as  if  they 
were  railway -carriages.  I  remember  a  friend  of  mine,  an  English- 
man, who  used  to  drive  his  family  about  the  country  in  a  wagon- 
ette, and  one  day  he  came  to  that  awfully  narrow  bit  in  the  Pass 
of  Brander,  and  just  then  he  found  the  coach  coming  down  the 
other  way.  By  rights  he  should  have  taken  the  outside,  where 
there  isn't  a  stone  to  save  you  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice ; 
but  he  swore  to  himself  that  no  human  power  would  take  him  to 
that  side  of  the  road.  The  coach  came  on;  the  guard  blew  his 
horn ;  my  friend  stuck  to  the  right  of  the  road,  close  by  the  hill. 
The  coach  came  close  up.     '  Take  your  own  side  of  the  road !' 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  223 

bellowed  the  driver.  '  Take  your  own  side  of  the  road !'  bellowed 
the  guard.  '  Mes  amis,'  said  my  friend,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. 'Je  ne  vous  comprends  pas!'  'Take  to  your  own  side 
of  the  road,  you  unmentionable  foreigner !'  called  out  the  driver 
again.  My  friend  only  smiled  sweetly,  and  took  off  his  hat  with 
a  most  courteous  bow.  There  was  nothing  for  it.  The  guard 
tried  to  explain  by  signs :  no  use.  They  had  to  lead  the  horses 
of  the  coach  past  on  the  outside;  and  then,  as  my  friend  drove 
on,  he  kissed  his  hand  to  them,  and  said,  '  Mes  bons  amis,  je  vous 
donne  mille  remerciments ;  je  baise  les  mains  a  vous,  messieurs.'  " 

If  Mr.  George  Miller  and  Violet  had  been  on  more  intimate 
terms  they  would  have  looked  at  each  other  significantly.  Both 
had  an  awful  conviction  that  no  such  person  as  this  mock-French- 
man existed ;  that  no  such  incident  had  ever  occurred ;  that  the 
whole  thing  had  been  suggested  by  the  imagined  difficulty  of  get- 
ting two  carts  to  pass  each  other  on  the  stony  shores  of  Loch 
Tyachus.  But  they  could  not  give  utterance  to  these  suspicions 
at  the  moment,  for  they  were  now  summoned  down  to  the  gig  of 
the  Sea-Pyot  by  the  intelligence  that  a  large  brood  of  ducks  was 
visible  farther  along  the  shores  of  the  loch. 

There  was  a  trifle  more  vigor  in  the  pulling  of  the  men  after 
the  luncheon  and  whisky,  and  the  boat  swung  forward  at  a  good 
speed.  Once  they  were  suddenly  checked  by  the  appearance  of 
a  bird  sitting  on  the  water  a  short  distance  ahead ;  but  it  turned 
out  that  this  was  only  a  small  glebe,  and  so  they  proceeded.  By- 
and-by  they  came  near  to  the  cottages;  and  they  could  distin- 
guish one  or  two  women,  with  a  lot  of  children,  who  had  come  to 
see  what  strange  intrusion  was  this.  The  birds  were  now  but 
forty  or  fifty  yards  ahead,  well  inshore ;  and  with  a  caution  to 
avoid  firing  in  the  direction  of  the  cottages,  lest  the  ricochet  of  a 
stray  shot  should  reach  the  children,  Drummond  called  on  his 
younger  friend  to  fire  on  chance.  A  charge  of  shot  dashed  into 
the  water;  the  whole  of  the  birds  dived  and  disappeared  but  one, 
that  got  up  and  flew  out  toward  the  middle  of  the  lake,  making 
a  semicircle  round  the  boat.  Miller,  at  the  bow,  having  just  put 
in  another  cartridge,  fired  his  first  barrel ;  and  one  could  see  by 
the  direction  of  the  smoke,  wadding,  and  so  forth,  that  the  shot 
must  have  rattled  all  round  the  duck.  He  fired  his  second  barrel, 
and  again  the  direction  seemed  all  that  could  be  desired.  Drum- 
mond, the  bird  having  now  got  farther  round,  also  had  his  two 


224  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

barrels  at  the  flying  target ;  and  when  the  duck  was  finally  seen 
to  get  clear  away  from  all  these  showers  of  lead,  Miss  Violet  clap- 
ped her  hands  and  declared  that  he  deserved  to  escape. 

"  It  was  a  merganser,"  observed  Mr.  Drummond,  thoughtfully  ; 
"any  other  bird  would  have  been  killed  four  times  over.  Each 
of  those  charges  went  all  round  him ;  and  yet  he  never  moved  a 
feather — " 

The  speaker  stopped.  What  was  this  enormous  bird  coming 
flying  down  at  a  great  rate  of  speed,  with  long  neck  outstretched 
and  huge  wings  ? 

"  Look  out !"  Miller  cried.     "  A  wild  goose,  by  Jove !" 

He  had  the  first  shot,  and  evidently  struck  the  bird,  which  al- 
tered its  line  of  flight ;  but  before  it  had  gone  much  farther,  a 
charge  of  No.  3  from  Mr.  Drummond's  gun  had  caught  the  prod- 
igy, which  now  fell  head-foremost  into  the  sea-weed. 

"  Put  round  the  boat,  Alec  !"  cried  Miss  Violet,  in  great  excite- 
ment. "  Now,  that  is  something !  Pall  away,  Alec  !  quick — 
quick !" 

"  He's  dead  enough,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  for  indeed  the  large 
bird  was  lying  among  the  brown  sea-weed  with  its  wings  out- 
stretched. 

"  It  is  as  big  as  an  albatross !"  said  young  Miller.  "  And  he 
got  the  full  benefit  of  my, first  barrel  before  you  brought  him 
down." 

But  at  this  moment  the  whole  complexion  of  affairs  was 
changed  by  a  singular  incident.  They  now  observed  that  one  of 
the  women  was  coming  down  to  the  shore,  uttering  a  series  of 
shrill  sounds  that  appeared  to  be  violent  reproaches,  and  shaking 
her  clenched  hand  in  the  air.  Our  voyagers  stared  at  each  other. 
What  could  be  the  matter  ?  As  she  came  nearer,  it  appeared  she 
was  an  old  woman,  violently  excited,  and  calling  out  to  them  in  a 
language  they  could  not  understand. 

"  We  can  not  have  hurt  any  body,"  said  Mr.  Drummond ; 
"  there  was  no  firing  anywhere  near  the  direction  of  the  cottages." 

"  I  think  it  wass  the  goose,  sir,"  said  Alec,  gravely. 

"  The  goose  ?" 

"  Ay  ;  I  think  the  goose  wass  belonging  to  the  old  woman." 

An  awful  possibility  flashed  into  their  minds.  By  this  time 
they  had  run  the  boat  in  among  the  stones ;  and  they  got  out 
and  went  up  to  the  old  woman,  who,  still  scolding  away  in  this 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  225 

unknown  tongue,  was  standing  by  the  body  of  the  dead  bird. 
When  they  regarded  the  luckless  animal  their  fears  were  confirm- 
ed.    It  was,  in  fact,  a  respectable  old  gander. 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  Alec,"  cried  Drummond,  "  will  you  ex- 
plain the  matter  to  this  furious  old  woman  ?  Tell  her  that  geese 
in  our  country  don't  go  flying  out  to  sea  and  pretending  to  be 
wild  birds.  Tell  her  this  old  gander  fell  a  prey  to  his  vanity. 
Tell  her—" 

But  Miss  Violet  had  taken  a  better  way  of  silencing  the  old 
woman.  She  had  put  a  couple  of  sovereigns  in  her  hand  and 
held  them  out.  The  old  woman  ceased  her  angry  denunciations, 
aud  regarded  the  coin  with  a  suspicious  curiosity.  She  took  them 
up,  looked  at  them,  bit  them  with  her  teeth  ;  then  she  called  aloud 
for  her  neighbor,  a  younger  woman,  who  was  shyly  standing  at 
some  little  distance.  The  latter  came  timidly  forward,  and,  when 
appealed  to,  looked  at  the  sovereigns.  The  result  of  the  examina- 
tion was  not  favorable. 

"  Na,  na !"  the  old  woman  cried ;  and  she  was  beginning  once 
more  to  denounce  the  wanton  cruelty  of  the  strangers,  when  Alec, 
in  as  forcible  Gaelic  as  her  own,  broke  in  upon  her. 

What  ensued,  of  course,  our  travelers  could  not  tell ;  they  could 
only  guess  from  gestures  and  tones.  At  length  Alec  said,  with  a 
sort  of  bashful  smile, 

"  She'll  no  tek  the  English  money,  sir.  She  thinks  that  you 
intended  to  kill  her  gander,  sir — " 

"Why  don't  you  tell  her  that  such  a  fool  of  a  bird  richly  de- 
serves its  fate  ?" 

"  She  says  if  you  will  pay  for  it,  it  must  be  in  good  money — " 

"  Does  she  mean  in  one-pound  notes  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

This  was  awkward.  Not  one  of  them  had  a  Scotch  note. 
Seeing  their  dilemma,  Alec  said,  with  some  hesitation, 

"  I  hef  one  or  two  notes,  sir — " 

"  All  right,  Alec.  Let's  have  a  couple  of  them ;  and  here  are 
two  good  English  sovereigns." 

"Ay,"  said  Alec,  with  still  greater  embarrassment,  "  but  they  are 
sewn  up  in  the  waistband  of  my  troosers — " 

"  All  right — cut  them  out ;  you  can  sew  them  up  afterward." 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Alec,  looking  very  doubtfully  at  his  master, 
"  but  I  will  hef  to  tek  the  troosers  off — " 

10* 


22G  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  sard  Mr.  Drumrnond,  hastily.  "  Well,  off  you  go 
up  to  the  cottage,  turn  the  children  out,  and  get  the  money.  I 
am  sorry  to  spoil  your  clothes  for  you,  but  you  shall  all  have  an 
extra  glass  of  grog  to-night — " 

"And  you  shall  have  a  pudding  for  to-morrow's  dinner,  seeing 
it's  Sunday,"  added  Violet. 

"  And  a  merganser  apiece,"  suggested  Mr.  Miller,  with  a  laugh. 

It  was  not  without  a  great  deal  of  arguing  that  the  old  woman 
would  consent  to  Alec's  going  up  to  the  cottage,  for  she  evident- 
ly suspected  he  meant  to  steal  her  fowls ;  and  when  at  length  she 
allowed  him  to  go,  she  went  with  him  as  guard,  while  she  left  her 
neighbor  to  look  after  the  others,  lest  they  should  run  away  with 
the  gander  and  leave  Alec  as  an  unprofitable  hostage. 

Moreover,  when  they  came  back  from  the  cottage  they  were 
still  arguing  and  quarreling. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now,  Alec  ?  Haven't  you  found  the 
money  ?" 

"Ay,  I  hef  the  money,"  said  the  young  sailor,  showing  the 
two  notes  in  his  hand,  "  but  the  old  witch  she  will  want  the 
money  and  the  goose  too ;  an'  I  will  say  to  her  she  gets  far  too 
much  for  the  goose ;  and  when  the  goose  is  paid  for,  it  will  be  no 
longer  belonging  to  her." 

"  Never  mind,  Alec.  Give  the  old  woman  the  money,  and  her 
gander  too.  They  were  together  in  their  lives,  and  in  death  they 
shall  not  be  divided.  Get  into  the  boat,  young  people.  Good- 
day  to  you,  old  lady:  beware  of  keeping  vain  and  pretentious 
ganders." 

So  they  stood  out  to  sea  again,  resolved  to  commit  no  further 
farm-yard  depredations.  And  indeed  they  were  fairly  successful 
in  another  direction ;  for,  having  by  slow  degrees  worked  this 
way  and  that  across  the  loch,  they  had  driven  the  birds  up  to  the 
shallow  water  at  its  extremity,  and  here  the  sea -fowl  would  in- 
evitably pass  them  again  rather  than  go  inland.  As  for  the  wild 
duck,  which  Alec  had  prophesied  would  be  found  in  large  num- 
bers around  the  estuary  of  the  small  -river,  they  discovered  that 
these  wrere  but  the  ubiquitous  merganser ;  and  as  grave  doubts 
existed  as  to  whether  the  flesh  of  the  merganser  was  worth  its 
salt,  they  were  more  intent  on  getting  a  few  curlews,  with  per- 
haps a  golden  plover  or  two,  several  of  which  they  had  observed 
bc37ond  range.     Certainly,  when  they  got  up  to  the  head  of  the 


THE    MAGIC    MERGANSER.  227 

loch,  there  was  no  lack  of  birds.  In  every  direction  there  were 
cries  and  warning  whistles — some  flocks  rising  in  a  body  and 
making  off  round  the  shore,  others  separating  in  confusion  and 
making  straight  back  down  the  loch.  It  was  out  of  the  latter 
that  they  made  their  bag.  In  the  noise  and  confusion,  even  the 
wary  curlew  occasionally  came  right  over  the  gig,  and  there  was 
a  sufficiently  fierce  discharge  of  ammunition.  Product  of  the 
day's  expedition :  two  herons,  five  mergansers,  five  curlews,  two 
oyster-catchers,  and  three  sandpipers.     Missing,  a  gander. 

It  was  a  long  pull  back  to  the  yacht,  and  Mr.  Drummond  and 
Miller  were  for  taking  a  turn  at  the  oars.  But  the  young  fellows 
would  not  hear  of  that :  perhaps  they  were  cheered  up  by  the 
promise  of  a  feast  on  the  morrow. 

And  so  the  gig  glided  down  between  the  silent  shores  of  Loch 
Tyachus — and  passed  the  islands  where  the  seals  were  still  to  be 
seen — and  got  through  the  narrow  channels  back  into  the  bay  of 
Loch  Sunart,  where  the  Sea-Pyot  lay  at  her  anchorage.  It  had 
been  a  long,  busy,  enjoyable  day ;  to  all  appearance  no  gloomy 
surmises,  no  anxious  thoughts,  had  interfered  with  the  pleasures 
of  holiday-making. 

Violet  knew  nothing  of  these  surmises  and  anxieties ;  and  yet 
she  could  not  help  asking  herself  how  it  was  that  Mr.  Drummond 
sometimes  spoke  as  he  had  spoken  while  they  sat  on  the  rocks 
after  luncheon — as  if  the  world  had  nothing  further  for  him — as 
if  life  were  of  but  little  account.  It  is  true  that  these  utterances 
had  no  taint  of  envy  nor  even  of  disappointment  in  them ;  per- 
haps, indeed,  they  were  more  the  result  of  hap-hazard  fancies  than 
the  expression  of  personal  feeling ;  and  yet  she  did  not  fail  to 
detect  in  them  an  under -note  of  sadness.  She  knew  there  was 
no  sacrifice  she  would  not  gladly  undertake  for  the  happiness  of 
this  the  best  of  all  her  friends ;  but  how  could  she,  she  asked 
herself,  a  mere  girl,  affect  this  man's  estimate  of  life?  She  was 
his  pupil,  not  his  teacher. 


228  MADCAP   VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    CRISIS. 

But  Mr.  George  Miller  had  no  intention  of  nursing  his  wrath 
in  silence.  If  his  suspicions  were  correct  —  and  his  suspicions 
had  almost  become  convictions — he  would  have  the  matter  out 
at  once.  He  was  not  to  be  kept  dangling  after  a  woman  who 
was  secretly  in  love  with  somebody  else ;  if  that  were  so,  better 
for  every  one  concerned  that  the  truth  should  be  known  and  the 
farce  come  to  an  end. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis.  Next 
day  was  Sunday — a  beautiful,  still,  brilliant  day,  with  the  sun- 
light lying  warm  on  the  grays  and  purples  of  rock  and  heather, 
on  the  bare  scaurs  of  the  granite  mountains,  on  the  light-blue 
stretches  of  water  around  the  islands ;  and,  of  course,  church  and 
chapel  were  alike  unknown  in  this  remote  and  solitary  place.  In 
the  perfect  silence  they  could  vaguely  hear,  through  the  open 
hatchway  of  the  forecastle,  the  voice  of  one  of  the  men  reading 
from  a  Gaelic  Bible  to  his  companions.  Mr.  Drummond,  lying 
at  full  length  on  the  deck,  partly  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  the 
shadow  of  the  gig,  was  deeply  immersed  in  a  book,  and  paid  no 
attention  to  any  thing  that  was  going  on.  He  would  not  even 
stir  when  the  others  proposed  to  go  on  shore  :  and  so  Young  Mil- 
ler hauled  up  the  dinghy  to  the  side  of  the  yacht,  put  the  ladies 
into  it,  and  himself  rowed  them  in  to  the  land. 

It  was  a  beautiful  place  to  idle  through,  on  this  bright,  warm 
day.  A  road,  skirting  the  sea,  took  them  through  a  wilderness  of 
rock  and  fern,  of  heather  and  young  birch-trees,  of  honeysuckle 
bushes,  and  rowan-trees  scarlet  with  berries;  it  led  them  past 
mountain-streams  that  came  tumbling  down  narrow  glens  into 
clear  brown  pools  ;  it  took  them  through  woods  of  young  oak 
and  ash ;  it  led  them  away  up  the  side  of  a  mountain,  and  there, 
turning  round  and  looking  back,  they  beheld  a  marvelous  net- 
work of  islands — resembling  a  raised  map — lying  in  the  still  blue 
water,  each  island  having  a  fringe  of  yellow  sea-weed  round  its 
shores.     Apparently,  the  only  inhabitants  of  the  place  were  the 


a  crisis.  229 

wild  duck  swimming  off  the  nearest  point,  the  invisible  curlew 
that  kept  whistling  and  calling  each  other,  and  a  solitary  heron 
standing  among  the  sea-weed,  like  the  gray  ghost  of  a  bird  among 
the  rich  brown. 

George  Miller  did  not  notice  many  of  these  things ;  he  was  too 
impatiently  Avaiting  for  a  chance  of  speaking  privately  with  Vio- 
let: and  at  first  it  seemed  as  though  he  never  would  get  that 
chance,  for  the  girl  kept  well  up  with  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her 
daughter,  who  were  in  front,  and  of  course  he  could  not  ask  her 
to  linger  behind.  At  last,  however,  the  opportunity  occurred. 
They  had  to  cross  a  deep  glen  by  means  of  a  wooden  bridge 
that  was  perhaps  eighty  or  ninety  feet  above  the  water  below ; 
and  here  Violet  paused  for  a  second  or  two  to  cast  some  pebbles 
down  into  the  clear  pool  between  the  rocks  and  bushes. 

"  Violet,"  said  lie,  rather  peremptorily,  "  I  want  you  to  speak 
frankly  with  me  for  a  minute  or  two.  Let  them  go  on.  I  think 
it  is  time  we  had  some  sort  of  explanation." 

She  was  vexed  and  annoyed  that  she  should  become  the  vic- 
tim of  those  recurrent  interviews  whenever  she  forgot  to  avoid 
being  alone  with  him  ;  but  she  said  nothing.  She  awaited  what 
he  had  to  say  with  an  air  of  respectful  attention. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  he,  speaking  rapidly.  "  I 
have  as  much  patience  as  most  men,  and  I  don't  wish  to  bother 
you ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  time  we  came  to  some  sort  of  explana- 
tion ;  or  let  the  whole  thing  come  to  an  end." 

He  uttered  the  last  words  with  some  vehemence. 

"  Or  let  what  come  to  an  end  ?" 

"The  sort  of  expectation,  or  understanding,  that  some  day  you 
will  become  my  wife." 

"  I  am  quite  willing  that  that  should  come  to  an  end." 

He  had  almost  expected  her  to  say  that;  and  he  was  more  an- 
gry than  disappointed.  And  yet  he  endeavored  to  suppress  any 
sign  of  mortification  —  partly  from  pride,  partly  from  the  con- 
sciousness that  an  exhibition  of  temper  could  avail  him  but  little. 

"  It  is  no  use,  then,  my  waiting  any  longer.  You  have  defi- 
nitely resolved  that  our  relations  should  cease  ?" 

"  I — I  have  wished  that  they  should  cease,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice;  "and  I  thought  you  knew  that — " 

"  And  your  reason  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  grieved  to  think  that  you  may  be  hurt, 


230  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

or  offended,  or  disappointed,"  she  continued,  not  noticing  his 
question.  "And  -when  you  said  you  would  rather  wait,  I  thought 
that  was  a  great  pity ;  but  now,  since  you  think  it  better  all  this 
should  end — " 

"I  think  it  better?"  said  he,  with  bitter  vehemence.  "It  is 
you  who  think  it  better ;  and  if  you  will  not  tell  me  your  reason, 
I  will  tell  it  to  you.  You  think  you  have  been  blinding  me  ? 
No.     I  have  been  looking  on  at  the  farce." 

She  turned  her  large  eyes  upon  him  with  a  gaze  of  wonder 
and  inquiry ;  but  he  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  her  face  paled 
somewhat. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said,  slowly. 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  blinded  me  ?  Haven't  I  seen  the 
pitiable  fashion  in  which  you  have  become  the  very  slave  of  that 
man — echoing  his  opinions  as  if  he  had  all  the  wisdom  in  the 
world — toadying  and  fawning  upon  him — " 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height. 

"  You  do  not  believe  what  you  say,"  she  said,  with  a  proud 
smile. 

"  I  do  know,"  he  said ;  and  now  he  had  lost  control  over  him- 
self, and  his  wounded  vanity  made  him  talk  wildly.  "  I  tell  you 
that  all  the  world  can  see  it — all  the  world  except  himself,  per- 
haps, for  he  is  only  a  baby.  And  you  know  what  I  say  is  true. 
Look  at  me  in  the  face — I  dare  you  to  look  at  me  in  the  face — 
and  deny  that  you  love  the  man." 

That  was  a  challenge ;  and  all  the  wild,  rebellious  blood  in  the 
girl  leaped  to  her  heart.  To  cringe  before  the  accuser — to  deny 
the  one  highest  and  holiest  feeling  that  her  nature  had  ever 
known — that  could  not  be  Violet  North's  first  impulse  at  such  a 
moment.  There  was  a  strange,  proud  light  on  her  pale  face  as 
she  said, 

"  And  if  I  do  not  deny  it  ?  I  have  many  things  to  be  ashamed 
of:  not  that.  No;  if  I  were  to  die  just  now,  I  should  think  my 
life  had  been  a  happy  one,  only  to  have  known  such  a  man  as  a 
friend." 

He  was  simply  thunderstruck.  He  had  seen  much,  and  im- 
agined more  ;  but  for  this  he  was  not  prepared.  Then  the  auda- 
cious courage  of  the  girl  astounded  him.  What  could  this  glad, 
proud  light  on  her  face  mean,  but  that  her  whole  being  was  wrap- 
ped up  in  an  earnest,  unreasoning  devotion  ? 


A    CRISIS.  231 

He  knew  then  that  his  case  was  hopeless,  and  he  had  sufficient 
vanity  to  prompt  him  to  put  a  good  face  on  it. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  with  a  forced  smile,  "  that,  now  you 
have  been  so  frank,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  I  wish  you  had 
been  a  little  franker  some  time  ago — but-  that  does  not  matter 
now.     Let  us  part  good  friends,  Violet." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Are  you  going  away  ?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  cheerfully.  "  I  couldn't  think  of  disturb- 
ing your  domestic  peace.  Good-bye.  If  you  don't  go  on  at  once, 
Mrs.  Warrener  will  be  coming  back  to  look  for  you." 

She  stood  irresolute,  but  she  allowed  him  to  shake  hands  with 
her.     Then  he  turned  and  walked  awav. 

"  Mr.  Miller !" 

He  stopped  and  looked  back.  She  advanced  to  him,  with  her 
eyes  bent  downward,  and  a  sort  of  tremble  about  her  lips. 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  in  so  low  a  voice  that  he  could  scarcely 
hear  her,  "  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  whatever  pain  I  may  have 
caused  you.  Believe  me,  I  am  very  sorry ;  I  thought  at  one 
time  it  might  have  ended  differently — " 

"  All  right,"  said  he.  "  Don't  trouble  about  that.  Good-bye, 
Violet." 

He  turned  once  more,  and  went  off  down  the  hill,  leaving  the 
girl  to  rejoin  her  friends,  with  the  consciousness  at  her  heart  that 
a  great  event  had  happened  in  her  life,  with  what  probable  con- 
sequences she  could  not  at  all  foresee.  She  knew  that  it  was  bet- 
ter for  both  that  this  definite  explanation  should  have  been  made, 
and  an  end  put  to  a  hopeless  condition  of  affairs ;  and  yet  mem- 
ory went  back  over  the  past  two  or  three  years  with  something 
of  regret,  and  in  her  secret  heart  she  was  hoping  that  her  now 
discarded  lover  would  not  think  too  harshly  of  her  in  the  time  to 
come. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Miller,  Violet  «"  asked  Mrs.  Warrener,  when  Vi- 
olet had  joined  the  two  who  had  gone  on. 

"  He  has  gone  back  to  the  yacht." 

Her  friend  regarded  her  with  curious  eyes. 

"  You  have  been  quarreling  again,"  she  said. 

"  No,  not  at  all." 

"Well,  you  will  get  to  the  end  of  these  disagreements  when 
you  marry,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  smile.     "  That 


232  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

is  always  the  way.  Young  people  are  always  quarreling,  because 
they  are  jealous,  and  exacting,  and  unreasonable  ;  they  get  to 
know  each  other  better  when  they  are  married." 

The  girl's  cheeks  burned  red. 

"  There  is  no  use  speaking  of  that,  Mrs.  Warrener.  Mr.  Miller 
and  I  will  never  be  married." 

The  little  fair-haired  woman  laughed :  she  was  not  to  be  de- 
ceived— she  had  observed  too  much  of  the  ways  of  young  people 
in  love. 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  said,  in  her  quiet,  shrewd  way.  "  It  is  al- 
ways parting  for  ever  and  ever — over  the  wearing  of  some  trink- 
et, or  the  giving  an  extra  dance  to  a  rival.  A  solemn  farewell 
for  life ;  and  the  next  day  they  meet  and  make  it  up  quite  easily. 
What  is  it  all  about,  Violet?" 

"  If  you  please,  dear  Mrs.  Warrener,  I  would  rather  not  speak 
of  it,"  the  girl  said,  gently ;  and  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter. 

But  as  George  Miller  went  down  the  hill  and  along  the  shore 
toward  the  bay  where  the  yacht  lay,  his  private  thoughts  were 
scarcely  so  composed  and  cheerful  as  his  manner  of  bidding 
good-bye  to  Violet  had  ostensibly  been.  It  was  not  pleasant  for 
a  business-like  young  man  to  know  that  he  had  been  spending 
two  or  three  years  of  his  life  in  chasing  a  rainbow.  Then  there 
would  be  the  confession  to  his  friends  that  he  had  failed  ;  and 
the  spectacle  of  this  girl  whom  he  had  hoped  to  make  his  wife 
publicly  declaring  that  she  preferred  James  Drummond — a  man 
of  eight-and-thirty,  who  would  cage  her  up  in  a  small  cottage  on 
a  narrow  income,  and  expect  her  to  become  a  sort  of  upper  house- 
maid. Not  much  chance  for  her  now  of  driving  in  the  Park, 
which,  even  as  a  girl,  she  had  enjoyed. 

What  fascination,  what  enchantment,  had  so  perverted  her 
mind?  The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  bitter  he  became, 
until  he  had  almost  persuaded  himself  that  his  rival  had  been  for 
years  trying  to  cajole  the  girl's  affections,  that  he  might  marry 
the  daughter  of  a  rich  man.  If  Mr.  Miller  had  been  in  his  right 
mind,  he  would  have  burst  out  laughing  at  this  suggestion  ;  but 
he  was  not  in  his  right  mind  ;  and  his  jealous  fancy  brooded  over 
the  idea  until  he  was  ready  to  believe  that  the  small  yacht  out 
there,  lying  peacefully  in  the  bay,  contained  one  of  the  most 
treacherous,  specious,  and  malicious  villains  that  had  ever  cursed 
the  world. 


A   CRISIS.  233 

He  got  into  the  dinghy  and  rowed  out  to  the  Sea-Pyot.  Mr. 
Drummond  got  up,  and  took  the  painter  from  him,  and  helped 
him  on  board. 

"  "Where  are  the  others  V  he  said. 

"  Gone  on  farther  than  I  cared  to  go." 

He  sat  down  again  and  took  to  his  book ;  the  younger  man 
went  below. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Miller  came  up  to  the  top  of  the  com- 
panion-stairs. 

"  Can  you  let  me  have  the  knife  I  lent  you  last  night  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  It  is  in  my  cabin  somewhere.  If  you  want  it,  I'll  go  down 
and  get  it." 

"  I  would  rather  have  it,"  was  the  answer. 

So  Mr.  Drummond  followed  him  down-stairs.  "What  was  his 
surprise  to  see  that  Miller  had  put  on  the  table  of  the  saloon  a 
knapsack  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and  that  it  was  partial- 
ly packed. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?"  he  said,  with  a  stare. 

"  I  mean  to  leave  you  now,"  the  young  man  said,  calmly.  "  I 
owe  you  fourteen  cartridges;  there  they  are  —  they  are  No.  4; 
but  I  suppose  that  won't  matter.  Can  you  give  me  the  pen- 
knife ?" 

James  Drummond  only  stared  the  more. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  What  I  tell  you.     I  am  leaving  the  yacht." 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  I  shall  walk  over  to  Loch  Aline,  and  get  some  boat  there." 

"Miller,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  You  can't  walk  over  to 
Loch  Aline  to-day ;  you  don't  know  the  road :  I  doubt  whether 
there  is  an  inn  there." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  going,"  the  younger  man  said,  with  a  sul- 
len determination. 

Most  men,  in  such  circumstances,  would  have  told  him  he 
might  go  a  good  deal  farther  than  Loch  Aline,  for  aught  they 
cared  ;  but  Mr.  Drummond  had  a  kindly  feeling  for  the  young 
man. 

"  Is  it  a  quarrel  with  Violet  ?" 


234  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  I  thought  you  would  hit  it,"  said  the  other,  with  an  evident 
sneer.     "I  see  you  have  expected  it.     Well,  are  you  satisfied?" 

There  was  altogether  something  in  Miller's  face  that  James 
Drummond  could  not  understand.  He  began  to  wonder  if  Miller 
had  discovered  a  whisky -still  on  shore  and  drunk  himself  mad. 
But  he  had  not  to  wait  for  any  further  explanation ;  because  the 
rising  passion  of  the  young  man  broke  through  his  forced  com- 
posure, and  he  began  pouring  forth  a  torrent  of  angry  accusa- 
tions. Drummond  had  inveigled  away  the  girl  from  her  people ; 
he  had  flattered  her  school-girl  vanity  by  making  a  companion  of 
her;  knowing  that  she  was  practically  engaged  to  one  who  had 
her  father's  sanction,  he  had  treacherously  induced  her  to  break 
her  word ;  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  Drummond  listened  to 
all  this  with  astonishment,  but  also  with  absolute  self-control. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind,"  said  he,  "  to  take  you  up  on  deck  and 
drop  you  overboard  —  that  might  cure  you  of  your  madness. 
"Whoever  has  put  all  this  stuff  into  your  head  ?" 

"  Don't  try  to  deceive  me  any  further !"  Miller  said,  with  his 
lips  white  with  angry  excitement.  "  You  have  done  it  well 
enough  already.  You  knew  I  was  to  marry  the  girl — you  knew 
her  father  wished  it — and  yet  you  set  to  work  to  draw  her  away 
from  me." 

"  Then,  why  are  you  here  ?"  said  Drummond.  "  If  that  was  my 
design,  why  did  I  ask  you  to  join  us  here  ?  It  seems  to  me  that 
looks  more  like  bringing  you  two  together." 

"  You  can't  blind  me !"  the  young  man  cried,  with  a  scornful 
laugh.  "  You  knew  the  mischief  was  done.  You  knew  the  girl 
was  ready  to  cut  off  her  hand  for  you,  if  you  asked  it.  You  knew 
that  she  gloried  in  her  infatuation — " 

"  Look  here,  Miller !"  said  James  Drummond,  with  a  dangerous 
contraction  of  the  brows,  "  I  believe  you  are  as  mad  as  a  March 
hare.  You  may  talk  nonsense  about  me  to  your  heart's  content, 
but  leave  Violet  out  of  it.  Gracious  Heavens,  I  wonder  to  hear 
vou,  man  !  You  pretend  to  love  the  girl ;  and  you  go  mad  like 
this  with  childish  surmises.  Why  not  go  frankly  to  her,  and 
learn  for  yourself  that  this  is  mere  dreaming  and  folly — " 

"  Yes,  and  then  ?"  exclaimed  the  younger  man.  "  What  then  ? 
I  find  she  draws  herself  up — boasts  of  her  love  for  you — has  not 
even  the  shamefacedness  to  deny  it — and  then  you  pretend  you 
know  nothing:  about  it !     Bah !" 


A   CRISIS.  235 

He  turned  to  the  knapsack,  and  continued  his  packing.  For  a 
second  or  two  James  Drumraond  stood  absolutely  silent. 

"  Miller,  do  you  know  what  you  said  just  now  ?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Was  that  a  lie  ?" 

"  You  know  it  was  no  lie.  You  have  stolen  the  girl  from  me. 
What  is  the  use  of  having  more  words  about  it  ?" 

Drummond  went  up  on  deck.  The  beautiful,  fair,  still  world 
around  him  seemed  part  of  a  dream ;  he  could  have  prayed  for 
a  bolt  of  God's  lightning  to  break  the  awful  silence  and  assure 
him  that  he  lived.  He  was  in  a  trance  from  which  he  could  not 
escape  ;  he  was  a  dreamer  that  wrestles  with  his  dream  and  strives 
to  awake.  It  was  no  joy  to  this  man  to  hear  that  a  young  girl 
had  offered  him  the  treasure  of  her  first  love.  An  infinite  sad- 
ness filled  his  heart  and  blinded  his  eyes ;  the  wild  pulsations 
within  his  breast  seemed  so  many  stabs  of  remorse ;  his  imagina- 
tion was  stunned  by  a  gloomy  sense  of  the  irrevocable. 

He  did  not  stir  when  George  Miller  came  up  on  deck.  He 
regarded  him  as  if  he  too  were  part  of  this  Avild,  strange  dream, 
as  the  young  man  hauled  up  the  dinghy,  dropped  his  knapsack 
into  it,  and  got  in  himself. 

"  Miller !" 

"Well?" 

"  There  is  some  frightful  mistake  about  all  this.  Wait  till  they 
come  back." 

"  No,  thank  you ;  good-bye.  I  have  put  an  address  on  my 
gun-case :  if  you  can  put  it  on  board  a  goods-steamer,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  you." 

There  was  a  splash  of  the  dipping  oars,  and  the  small  boat 
drew  away  toward  the  shore. 

It  was  not  for  an  hour  after  that  James  Drummond  saw  any 
other  signs  of  life  along  that  solitary  coast;  then  three  figures 
came  down  to  the  rocks,  and  a  shawl  was  waved.  He  called  up 
two  of  the  men  and  sent  them  ashore  with  the  gig.  That  hour 
of  self-communion  seemed  to  have  left  his  face  somewhat  worn. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Miller?"  said  Mrs.  Warrener.  She  guessed  he 
had  u-one,  when  she  saw  the  dinghy  on  shore. 

"  He  is  gone  away  —  to  Loch  Aline,"  said  Mr.  Drummond, 
calmly.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  Violet  by  herself  about  this.  Vio- 
let, will  you  come  down  to  the  saloon  for  a  minute  ?" 


230  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

She  followed  him  down  the  steps  and  into  the  saloon ;  and  he 
shut  the  door.  She  was  trembling  a  little ;  why,  she  scarcely 
knew :  nor  could  she  understand  the  great  sadness  of  his  face  as 
he  regarded  her. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  is  it  true  what  he  says  ?" 

She  involuntarily  retreated  an  inch  or  two,  and  her  fingers  were 
clenched  in  on  the  palms  of  her  hands. 

"  He  told  you,  then  ?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes.  Let  us  be  frank.  It  is  not  true — my  child,  my  child, 
you  must  tell  me  it  is  not  true." 

He  clasped  her  hands  in  his,  and  for  a  second  she  was  fright- 
ened by  the  intensity  of  emotion  visible  in  his  face.  But  her 
native  courage  did  not  forsake  her.  Her  face  was  white  enough  ; 
but  she  said,  without  a  quiver  in  the  low  voice, 

"And  why  do  you  wish  me  to  say  that?" 

"  Don't  you  know — don't  you  know,  my  poor  child  ?  Have  I 
kept  my  secret  so  well  ?  Don't  you  know  how  I  have  loved  you, 
and  hidden  away  all  my  love  for  you — so  that  I  thought  you  had 
not  even  a  suspicion  of  it  that  would  grieve  you — all  to  see  you 
happy  as  a  young  girl  should  be  happy,  with  a  young  husband, 
and  plenty  of  friends,  and  a  bright,  gay  world  before  her  ?  And 
now — have  I  betrayed  my  trust — but,  Violet,  it  can  not  be  true — 
you  have  had  a  quarrel — " 

She  had  been  drinking  in  every  word  —  her  pathetic,  anxious 
face  turned  up  to  his,  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears  ;  and  when  she 
seemed  fully  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  his  words,  he  was 
suddenly  interrupted.  She  uttered  a  quick,  low  cry  of  joy,  and 
hid  her  face  in  his  bosom.  The  assurance  she  had  longed  for 
was  given. 

He  put  his  two  hands  on  the  rich  folds  of  dark  hair,  and  put 
back  her  head,  and  looked  down  into  her  eyes  with  a  wonderful 
tenderness  and  sadness  in  his  look. 

"  What  is  done  can  not  be  undone :  I  wish,  for  your  sake,  child, 
it  could.  I  have  destroyed  your  life  for  you — you,  a  young  girl, 
just  beginning  to  know  how  fresh  and  beautiful  the  world  is — " 

"  Did  I  know  it  was  beautiful  until  you  taught  me  ?"  she  asked, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  Have  you  not  shown  me  what  it  is  to  be  gen- 
tle and  noble  and  unselfish?  When  I  have  been  in  your  house 
I  have  been  happy ;  outside  of  it,  never.  And  I  thank  God  for 
giving  me  such  a  friend." 


a  crisis.  237 

"A  friend — if  it  had  only  remained  at  that,"  he  said.  "That 
would  have  been  better  for  you,  Violet." 

Her  answer  was  a  singular  one.  She  gently  released  herself 
from  his  embrace.     She  took  up  his  hand,  and  timidly  kissed  it. 

"  You  are  more  than  my  friend :  you  are  my  lord  and  master," 
the  girl  said,  with  a  proud  humility  ;  and  then  she  silently  opened 
the  door  and  went  out.  That  interview  was  something  for  a  man 
to  think  of  during  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Now  during  the  remainder  of  that  day  some  shade  of  mel- 
ancholy seemed  to  hang  about  the  spirits  of  this  little  party  of 
travelers,  which  Mrs.  Warrcner  naturally  attributed  to  the  fact  of 
Violet  having  quarreled  with  her  sweetheart.  She  would  have 
the  map  examined  to  see  the  number  of  miles;  and  hoped  he 
would,  if  he  failed  to  reach  the  place,  have  sufficient  sense  to 
claim  hospitality  from  some  farmer.  Amy  was  inclined  to  be 
cross  with  her  friend ;  for  she  could  not  understand  why  a  girl 
who  was  so  amiably  disposed  toward  those  around  her  should  be 
so  cruel  to  a  gentleman  who  paid  her  the  compliment  of  asking 
her  to  become  his  wife.  On  the  other  hand,  Violet  was  more 
than  ordinarily  affectionate  toward  her  former  school-companion ; 
and,  not  content  with  giving  her  a  couple  of  lace  handkerchiefs 
which  had  somehow  got  among  her  things,  would  press  on  her 
acceptance  the  much  more  valuable  box  of  elaborately  cut  ivory 
which  contained  tbem. 

"  Do  you  know,  Violet,"  the  girl  remarked,  "  what  mamma  said 
about  you  the  other  day  ?" 

"  I  hope  it  was  something  very  nice." 

"  She  said  it  was  a  good  thing  for  you  your  ears  were  fastened 
to  your  head." 

"Because  otherwise  I'd  lose  them?" 

"  No ;  because  otherwise  you'd  give  them  away.  I  don't  know 
how  you  manage  to  keep  any  thing." 

The  calm  afternoon  wore  away.  They  had  a  quiet  dinner  in 
the  saloon  in  the  evening;  after  dinner  they  sat  up  on  deck,  in 
the  warm  night -air,  to  watch  the  moonlight  rise  over  the  black 
hills;  then  by-and-by  the  ladies  went  below,  and  James  Druni- 
mond  was  left  alone. 

Somehow,  as  he  sat  there  and  bethought  him  of  all  that  had 
happened  during  the  day,  and  of  the  new  future  that  lay  before 
him,  a  singular  and  glad  change  of  feeling  set  in.     He  would  ac- 


238  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

cept  the  great  gift  that  had  been  given  him,  not  to  rejoice  over  it 
as  an  acquisition,  but  to  cherish  it  tenderly  as  a  trust.  If  it  did 
seem  so  that  this  girl  had  placed  her  future  in  his  hands,  he 
would  requite  her  confidence  with  an  unceasing  love  and  devotion. 
Nay,  he  grew  bolder  than  that.  He  would  take  it  that  the  highest 
point  in  his  life,  too,  had  been  reached :  long  after  he  had  hoped 
for  such  a  thing,  the  bright,  beautiful  time  of  existence  had  ar- 
rived— the  year  had  yet  its  spring-time  in  it — the  singing  season 
of  the  birds  was  not  yet  over — there  were  sweet  roses  yet  un- 
blown, and  a  woman's  heart  and  eyes  to  grow  proud  and  glad 
at  his  approach.  At  last — at  last !  All  the  happy  centuries  the 
world  had  rolled  through  seemed  but  to  have  led  up  to  this  one 
culminating  joy.  Now  the.  heart  might  break — now  life  might 
go — since  the  best  the  world  contained  had  been  pressed  to  his 
bosom ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LOVE    WENT   A-SAILING. 


It  was  impossible  for  this  girl — young  as  she  was,  and  ignorant 
as  she  was  of  many  common  experiences — it  wTas  simply  impos- 
sible for  her  to  love  where  she  did  not  respect  and  honor.  Her 
whole  nature  would  have  risen  in  revolt  against  an  "  infatuation." 
If  by  some  mishap  her  heart  had  got  entangled  where  her  head 
could  not  approve,  she  would  have  crushed  the  growing  sentiment 
at  any  cost.  And  thus  it  was,  after  a  gallant  and  loyal  endeavor 
to  see  the  best  in  George  Miller  —  partly  because  she  retained 
some  trace  of  her  old  school-girl  interest  in  him,  partly  because 
she  dreaded  the  reproach  of  having  encouraged  him  to  no  purpose 
— she  had  at  last,  when  driven  into  a  corner,  refused  him  point- 
blank.  Hitherto,  indeed,  there  had  not  been  the  remotest  chance 
of  her  marrying  the  young  man,  though  neither  he  nor  she  was 
aware  of  the  fact.  Considering  herself  as,  in  a  measure,  bound  to 
him,  she  had  done  what  she  could  to  blind  herself  to  his  real  nat- 
ure ;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Her  clear,  shrewd  perception  was  not 
to  be  dulled  by  arguments  or  reasons  addressed  by  herself  to  her- 
self :  behind  the  winning  and  graceful  exterior  of  the  young  man 


LOVE    WENT    A-SAILING.  239 

she  saw  only  poor  aims  and  narrow  sympathies,  the  mean  ambi- 
tions and  contracted  prejudices  of  the  hopelessly  commonplace. 
It  was  with  no  sense  of  doing  any  thing  remarkable  or  noble  that 
this  girl  of  twenty  threw  away  her  chances  of  marriage  with  a 
young,  rich,  and  singularly  handsome  man;  preferring  the  mere 
friendship  of  one  who  was  much  her  senior,  who  was  whimsical, 
provoking,  erratic,  and  who  was  very  much  given  to  making  fun 
of  her.  There  was  no  choice  at  all  for  her.  Young  as  she  was, 
she  was  fascinated  by  the  charm  of  unworldliness  about  this  man's 
character,  by  the  thousand  quick  glancing  beauties  of  his  mental 
nature,  and  by  the  gentle  kindliness  and  thoughtfulness  of  his  out- 
ward acts.  In  his  society  she  felt  that  she  breathed  a  freer  intel- 
lectual atmosphere ;  life  was  not  all  bank-accounts  and  Bayswater. 
She  was  his  humble  disciple  ;  he,  her  master ;  she  was  content  to 
sit  at  his  feet  and  listen. 

But  who  can  tell  of  the  proud  and  glad  delight  with  which 
she  knew  for  the  first  time  that  this  her  wistful  worship  had  met 
with  a  far  higher  reward  ;  that  he  whom  of  all  men  she  most  re- 
garded with  love  and  admiration  had  hidden  her  as  the  secret 
treasure  of  his  bosom  ;  that,  instead  of  the  clear,  cold  light  of  an 
intellectual  friendship — beautiful,  indeed,  but  pale  as  winter  sun- 
shine— there  was  burning  for  her  a  brighter,  and  warmer,  and  more 
beautiful  fire  on  the  very  hearth-stone  of  his  heart  ?  The  joy  of 
it !  Her  whole  being  seemed  transfused  with  gratitude  ;  the  world 
was  a  beautiful  and  friendly  world :  what  had  she  done  to  deserve 
this  great  happiness  ?  At  first  she  could  scarcely  understand  it  or 
believe  it  at  all ;  the  shock  of  the  surprise  was  too  great ;  then, 
by  slow  degrees,  she  tried  to  realize  her  position.  But  not  for 
one  moment  did  any  thought  of  communicating  this  discovery,  or 
of  making  any  arrangements  as  to  the  future,  enter  into  her  mind  ; 
and  the  same  might  be  said  of  him  too.  To  both  it  was  mere- 
ly a  happy  consciousness,  an  understanding  between  themselves 
which  was  too  sacred  for  the  outward  world  to  know.  Neither 
wished  to  proclaim  the  good  fortune  that  had  befallen  them  ;  the 
babblers  on  the  house-tops  had  enough  to  interest  them.  It  is 
very  doubtful,  indeed,  whether  either  ever  thought  of  looking  for- 
ward to  their  marriage  :  it  was  enough  for  him  that  in  the  mean 
time  he  had  a  better  right  than  ever  to  extend  a  tender,  protect- 
ing care  over  the  wayward  girl ;  it  was  occupation  for  her  to 
study  how  she  could  best  be  grateful  for  this  great  happiness 


240  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

by  placing  her  meek  service  at  the  feet  of  her  "  lord  and  mas- 
ter." 

How  rapidly  her  life  seemed  to  grow  and  enlarge,  minute  by 
minute !  She  had  dawdled  over  years,  with  half-developed  sen- 
timents and  school -girl  fancies,  and  the  years  seemed  no  more 
than  hours ;  now  the  hours,  full  of  the  experiences  of  a  woman, 
were  as  many  years.  She  remembered  with  a  kind  of  dismay  that 
she  had  at  one  time  regarded  Mr.  Drummond  as  an  elderly  man — 
as  a  person  to  be  treated  with  fear  and  respect  rather  than  with 
an  intimate  confidence.  What  were  the  actual  facts  of  the  case  ? 
She  was  twenty  ;  he  was  thirty  -  eight.  Eighteen  years  made  a 
great  difference  —  thus  she  argued  with  herself  —  on  paper;  but 
what  difference  did  they  make  between  him  and  her?  She  had 
grown  old,  had  become  a  woman,  in  two  or  three  years  ;  the  same 
period  of  time  had  made  no  difference  at  all  to  him.  He  appear- 
ed to  have  discovered  the  fountain  of  perpetual  youth.  Was 
there  any  man  she  knew,  young  or  old,  who  had  such  an  irresisti- 
ble gayety  of  spirits,  such  a  fascinating  brilliancy  of  life  ?  And 
then,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  proud  smile  on  her  lips,  if  his 
hair  were  as  white  as  snow,  and  his  step  as  feeble  as  now  it  was 
quick  and  eager,  and  his  eyes  clouded  over  with  care,  she  would 
none  the  less  be  his  meek  disciple  and  his  faithful  friend,  consid- 
ering herself  honored  among  women  if  only  he  would  accept  the 
utmost  treasures  of  her  love  and  devotion.  Such  a  love  as  this — 
and  it  suffused  the  whole  nature  of  the  girl,  her  mind  as  well  as 
her  heart — could  not  well  be  affected  by  years. 

But  all  this  was  of  the  inner  life — a  secret  sacred  to  themselves ; 
their  outer  life  was  much  as  usual.  He  was  too  fond  of  mis- 
chief, and  she  too  quick-spirited  in  resenting  it,  to  allow  any  un- 
necessary seriousness  to  embarrass  their  outward  relations.  If 
their  regard  for  each  other  was  both  grave  and  tender,  their  man- 
ner toward  each  other  was  even  a  trifle  more  defiant  than  of  yore  ; 
until  Mrs.  Warrener  had  to  intervene  and  rebuke  her  brother  for 
so  teasing  the  girl.  His  plea  was  that  people  always  quarreled  on 
board  ship,  especially  in  a  dead  calm  ;  and  that  as  soon  as  the  Sea- 
Pijot  got  out  of  Loch  Sunart,  Violet  and  he  would  be  friends  again. 

That  happened  about  four  o'clock  on  the  Monday. 

"  Violet,"  he  called  down  to  the  cabin,  "  come  on  deck !  A 
fine  breeze  has  sprung  up ;  we  are  getting  under  way ;  and  we 
can't  bowse  the  bobstay  until  you  appear !" 


LOVE    WENT    A-SAILING.  241 

When  she  came  on  deck,  and  looked  round,  there  was  certainly 
enough  bustle  going  forward.  Captain  Jimmy  was  rather  anx- 
ious to  get  out  of  this  land-locked  little  bay ;  and  as  the  breeze 
had  sprung  up  quite  suddenly,  the  resolve  to  get  out  to  sea  was 
quite  as  sudden.  At  last  something  of  quiet  prevailed ;  and  the 
plash  of  water  began  to  be  heard  along  the  side  of  the  Sea-Pyot. 

"  "Where  do  we  go  now  ?"  she  said. 

"Away  to  the  north — anywhere — wherever  the  Avind  takes  us. 
If  the  breeze  keeps  up,  we  will  make  Isle  Ornsay  to-night,  and  to- 
morrow morning  you  will  find  yourself  under  the  mountains  of 
Skye." 

Was  it  the  absence  of  a  certain  gloomy-tempered  young  man, 
or  the  new  sense  of  motion  and  activity  in  getting  away  from  the 
still  loch,  that  seemed  to  arouse  the  spirits  of  all  on  board  ?  Mrs. 
Warrener  fetched  up  a  bottle  of  whisky,  and  served  out  a  glass 
all  round  to  the  men,  to  celebrate  their  departure ;  her  brother — 
humming  to  himself,  in  a  doleful  manner, 

"  Yo,  heave,  ho ! 
II  etait  beau, 
Le  postilion  de  Lonjumeau  !" — 

generally  stood  by  to  let  draw  the  foresail  sheet  when  the  vessel 
was  put  about ;  while  Miss  Violet  and  her  companion  Amy  were 
listening  with  great  interest  to  some  perfectly  preposterous  stories 
which  Captain  Jimmy,  who  was  at  the  tiller,  was  telling  about  the 
beautiful  whisky  made  by  the  illicit  stills  in  his  youth.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  brisk  animation  on  board,  indeed;  for  they 
were  beating  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  loch,  and  the  constant 
tacking  in  this  comparatively  narrow  channel  required  some  watch- 
ing and  quick  work.  The  skipper  took  it  very  easy,  however. 
Sure  of  his  knowledge  of  the  coast,  and  sure  of  his  men,  he  did 
not  cease  to  regale  the  two  young  ladies  with  tales  which  were  of 
very  doubtful  authenticity;  while  his  ruddy,  good-natured  face 
occasionally  broadened  into  a  smile  at  some  profound  joke  of  his 
own  making.  It  was  universally  admitted  that  Loch  Sunart  was 
a  very  beautiful  place,  but  they  were  not  sorry  once  more  to  get 
out  to  sea. 

Now,  by  the  time  they  had  got  clear  of  Loch  Sunart  and  into 
the  mouth  of  the  Sound  of  Mull,  a  rich  golden  glow  was  over  the 
western   sky,  and  the  open   Atlantic  before  them  had  its  blue 

11 


242  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

waves  splashed  with  yellow  fire.  They  were  running  along  swift- 
ly with  the  wind  on  the  port  beam  ;  and  the  farther  out  they  got 
to  sea,  the  more  wonderful  became  this  world  of  light  and  color. 
Far  away  at  the  horizon  lay  a  long,  low  island,  that  seemed  al- 
most transparent  in  the  burning  glow  ;  and  then,  as  they  got  well 
round  Ardnamurchan,  they  beheld  in  the  paler  north  the  ghostly 
mountains  of  another  island,  resting  on  the  sea  like  clouds.  Un- 
happily, however,  as  the  colors  in  this  Avorld  of  water  and  sky 
grew  richer  and  deeper,  the  wind  gradually  fell.  The  sea  still 
rolled  in  its  gold  and  purple  all  around  them ;  but  the  great 
mainsail  occasionally  gave  an  ominous  flap ;  and  as  the  evening 
wore  on,  the  question  was  propounded  whether  they  might  not 
be  rolling  out  here  all  night,  unable  either  to  go  on  or  to  go  back. 
They  did  not  grumble.  Even  the  worst  that  might  befall  them 
was  far  from  being  misery.  They  sat  on  the  deck  and  watched 
the  gradual  change.  An  island  at  the  horizon  became  of  a  rich 
dark  purple,  under  a  streak  of  pale  salmon-colored  sky;  above 
that  there  was  a  clear  expanse  of  golden  green,  fading  into  cold 
grays,  and  terminating  in  a  dark -blue  overhead.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  vessel,  a  couple  of  miles  off,  lay  the  main -land  —  a 
series  of  dark  and  mountainous  precipices  stretching  down  to  the 
point  of  Ardnamurchan ;  and  now,  as  they  waited  and  watched, 
a  pale -yellow  radiance  appeared  over  these  mountains,  and  the 
moon  arose  into  the  clear  purple  vault.  The  mists  on  the  west- 
ern horizon  disappeared ;  the  sun,  a  glowing  orb  of  crimson,  was 
sinking  behind  the  sea.  They  were  eager  to  see  the  actual  dip 
of  this  mass  of  fire ;  but  now  a  great  vessel,  with  all  her  sails  set, 
and  looking  large  because  of  her  intense  blackness,  moved  slowly 
across.  She,  too,  seemed  to  be  at  the  horizon ;  perhaps  she  got 
more  wrind  farther  out ;  at  all  events,  she  moved  slowly  on 
through  the  red  glory  the  sun  had  left  behind  him.  Now  anoth- 
er light  appeared,  glimmering  through  the  sky-light  of  the  saloon, 
and  the  faint  tinkling  of  Duncan's  bell  summoned  them  down 
below. 

When  they  came  up  on  deck  again,  with  shawls  and  wrappers, 
all  the  ma^ic  of  a  summer  ni<xht  at  sea  was  around  them.  It  was 
of  no  concern  to  them  that  the  great  sheet  of  canvas  hung  loose 
and  limp  from  gaff  to  boom :  whatever  wind  there  was  was  dead 
aft,  and  they  still  managed  to  creep  on  a  bit;  for  the  rest,  it 
would  not  have  much  mattered  had  thev  been  absolutelv  station- 


LOVE    WENT    A-SAILING.  243 

ary.  When  again  in  their  life-time  would  they  be  likely  to  be  in 
such  a  scene? — the  mystery  of  the  sea  and  the  silence  of  the 
night  around  them;  the  yellow  moon  filling  the  cloudless  sky 
and  touching  here  and  there  the  rolling  waves ;  the  far  heights 
of  the  main-land  becoming  clearer  under  this  wan  radiance.  It 
was  a  night  of  romance,  of  wonder  and  joy,  to  be  forever  memo- 
rable to  at  least  two  of  those  figures  sitting  on  the  white  deck. 
Here  they  were,  cut  off  from  all  the  world — their  home  a  small 
craft  tossing  on  the  open  waters  of  the  Atlantic — their  two  com- 
panions their  closest  and  dearest  friends  —  life  had  no  more  to 
give.  The  time  went  by  with  talk  and  laughter,  with  snatches 
of  song,  and  with  a  silence  sweeter  than  either,  for  it  was  more 
in  harmony  with  the  beauty  and  the  mystery  of  the  night. 
They  watched  the  stars  grow  more  brilliant  as  the  moon  went 
down  toward  the  south.  Far  away  over  the  noiseless  sea  a  gleam- 
ing point  of  fire  burned  under  the  dark  precipices  —  that  was 
Ardnamurchan  light -house.  The  moon  got  farther  down,  until 
at  last  it  reached  the  horizon,  and  then  a  wonderful  sight  was 
seen,  as  of  a  ship  blazing  in  the  night.  Some  clouds  at  the  hori- 
zon had  got  before  the  setting  moon — there  was  a  strange,  a\vfulr 
confused  glory  of  yellow  fire — and  then  that  faded  out,  and  the 
world  was  left  with  the  paler  light  of  millions  of  stars  that  shone 
down  on  the  black  islands  and  the  sea. 

What  this  man  thought  of,  during  those  periods  of  silence,  in 
the  wistful  sadness  of  the  night,  is  not  to  be  put  down  here,  to 
be  read  in  a  railway  train,  or  yawned  over  after  dinner.  But 
sometimes,  indeed,  his  fancy  took  a  more  playful  turn,  and 
pleased  itself  by  adorning  the  girl  sitting  beside  him  with  all  sorts 
of  imaginary  graces  such  as  were  beloved  by  the  old  lyrical 
writers.  They  had  been  humming  certain  of  these  quaint  verses; 
he,  in  silence,  saw  before  him  the  noble  and  beautiful  dames 
and  maidens  whom  they  celebrated ;  he  transferred — merely  for 
amusement's  sake,  and  because  he  had  a  purely  intellectual  de- 
light in  his  love  for  her,  which  was  now  allowed  ample  liberty  of 
indulgence  —  he  transferred  to  her  these  graces,  and  excellences, 
and  quaint  divergences  of  character.  She  was  the  gay  Campaspe 
who  robbed  Cupid  of  his  bow  and  arrows;  she  was  the  fair 
Pamela,  matchless  in  her  dignity ;  she  was  Cynthia,  the  forest's 
queen,  at  sight  of  whom  the  glad  birds  began  to  sing;  she  was 
Lucasta,  Althea,  and,  perhaps  more   than    all,  that  tender  Chloo 


244  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"who  wished  herself  young  enough  for  me."  Or  was  she  not 
rather  the  queenly  maiden  of  the  "  Epithalamion — " 

"  Now  is  my  love  all  ready  forth  to  come ; 
Let  all  the  virgins  therefore  well  await ; 
And  ye,  fresh  boys,  that  tend  upon  her  groom, 
Prepare  yourselves,  for  he  is  coming  straight : 
Set  all  your  things  in  seemly  good  array, 
Fit  for  so  joyful  day ; 
The  joyfulest  day  that  ever  sun  did  see. 
Fair  sun  !  show  forth  thy  favorable  ray, 
And  let  thy  lifeful  heat  not  fervent  be 
For  fear  of  burning  her  sunshiny  face, 
Her  beauty  to  disgrace. 
0  fairest  Phoebus  !  father  of  the  Muse  ! 
If  ever  I  did  honor  thee  aright, 
Or  sing  the  thing  that  might  thy  mind  delight, 
Do  not  thy  servant's  simple  boon  refuse, 
But  let  this  day — let  this  one  day — be  mine ; 
Let  all  the  rest  be  thine ! 
Then  I  thy  sovereign  praises  loud  will  sing, 
That  all  the  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echo  ring." 

.  And  as  for  her — as  she  sat  there  in  the  clear  starlight,  with  her 
arm  round  Amy's  waist,  sometimes  looking  out  on  the  dark  At- 
lantic, at  other  times  at  the  ruddy  and  cheerful  glow  of  the  sky- 
light over  the  saloon  ?  Well,  she  had  less  acquaintance  than  he 
with  these  literary  celebrities ;  but  if  she  had  wished  to  choose 
out  one  of  the  songs,  snatches  of  Avhich  they  had  been  humming 
or  singing,  to  convey  the  deepest  feeling  of  her  heart,  she  knew 
well  which  one  that  would  be : 

"  Bid  that  heart  stay,  and  it  will  stay 
To  honor  thy  decree ; 
Or  bid  it  languish  quite  away 
And  't  shall  do  so  for  thee : 
Bid  me  to  weep,  and  I  will  weep 
While  I  have  eyes  to  see  ; 
And,  having  none,  yet  I  will  keep 
A  heart  to  weep  for  thee." 

It  was  of  no  consequence  to  her  that  these  words  are  supposed 
to  be  addressed  to  an  imperious  woman  by  her  humble  lover;  it 
was  enough  for  her  that  they  conveyed  a  perfect  expression  of 
her  absolute  self- surrender,  of  her  love,  and  respect,  and  meek 
humility. 


LOVE    WENT    A-SAILING.  245 

"  Bid  me  despair,  and  I'll  despair, 
Under  that  cypress-tree, 
Or  bid  me  die,  and  I  will  dare 
E'en  death,  to  die  for  thee  ! 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart, 
The  very  eyes  of  me — " 

Was  not  this  absolutely  true?  She  saw  things  as  he  saw 
them ;  she  was  schooling  herself  to  have  scarcely  an  opinion  of 
her  own.  And  when  she  asked  herself,  during  the  stillness  of 
this  magical  night,  whether  in  sober  fact  she  could  die  to  please 
this  man  whom  she  loved,  she  did  not  answer  (even  in  her  im- 
agination) with  rhetorical  phrases,  but  the  proud  swelling  of  her 
heart  was  to  herself  sufficient  response. 

The  dark  sea  lapped  all  around  the  boat ;  the  yellow  star  of  Ard- 
namurchan  light-house  was  still  visible  far  away  in  the  south  ;  and 
the  point  of  the  topmast,  as  the  vessel  rolled,  wandered  among  the 
gleaming  jewels  of  Cassiopeia,  now  right  overhead.  "What  o'clock 
was  it  ?  They  did  not  care.  They  chatted,  hummed  snatches  of 
songs,  or  sat  quiet  to  listen  to  one  of  the  sailors,  who,  on  the  look- 
out at  the  bow,  was  singing  to  himself,  "  Farewell,  farewell  to 
Finnorie !" 

•  Strangely  enough,  too,  neither  of  these  two  found  any  con- 
straint or  embarrassment  in  the  continual  company  which  is 
thrust  upon  one  on  board  a  yacht.  They  had  no  secrets  but  the 
one  great  secret ;  and  of  that  they  did  not  care  to  speak  even  to 
each  other.  What  could  be  the  good  of  talking  over  this  sacred 
treasure,  which  the  bountiful  heavens  had  so  suddenly  given 
them  ?  At  this  point  in  their  lives  they  were  absolutely  content. 
To  exist  was  happiness ;  they  troubled  themselves  little  about  the 
future ;  they  did  not  wish  to  consult  in  secret  over  plans ;  they 
had  an  abundant  faith  in  each  other ;  they  were  independent  of 
the  interference  or  opinion  of  friends.  That  was,  indeed,  a  beau- 
tiful, happy  night,  long  to  be  remembered. 

But  in  course  of  time,  as  there  seemed  little  likelihood  of  the 
Sea-Pyot  reaching  Isle  Ornsay  before  day-break,  they  wore  forced 
to  go  below,  with  great  regret.  Somehow  Violet  North  did  not 
sleep  much  for  the  remainder  of  that  night;  not,  indeed,  until 
after  she  had  heard,  in  the  clear  light  of  the  dawn,  the  loud  roar 
and  rattle  of  the  anchor  going  down.  In  the  stillness  and  dark- 
ness of  the  little  cabin  she  lay  and  thought  of  many  things,  and 


24G  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

these  not  of  the  saddest;  while  the  lapping  of  the  waves  with- 
out, that  she  could  but  faintly  hear,  was  a  sort  of  lullaby  to  her. 
Were  these  not  strange  phrases,  too,  interfused  with  that  monot- 
onous sound,  and  coming  wandering  in  among  her  wistful  fancies 
of  all  that  she  was  to  do  to  prove  her  love  and  gratitude — such 
phrases  as  these  :  "Bid  me  to  live  " — "  Thou  art  my  life,  my  love, 
my  heart " — "  The  very  eyes  of  me." 

And  then  at  last,  as  the  first  sunbeam  of  the  morning  glim- 
mered through  the  sky-light,  and  as  the  vessel  ceased  from  mov- 
ing, those  glad  and  busy  fancies  departed  one  by  one,  and  hap- 
piness rocked  her  heart  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

FOREBODINGS. 

When  she  went  on  deck  the  following  morning,  the  first  shock 
of  the  marvelous  beauty  around  her  bewildered  her  for  a  moment, 
and  in  spite  of  herself  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes.  Over  there  were 
the  splendid  waters  of  the  Sound  of  Sleat  rushing  in  darkened 
blue  before  the  fresh,  strong  breeze  of  the  morning ;  beyond  this 
glowing  and  dazzling  sea  stood  the  great  and  mystic  masses  of 
mountains  around  Loch  Hourn,  showing  wonderful  hues  of  crim- 
son and  purple  and  blue,  soft  and  pale  like  some  ethereal  velvet ; 
close  at  hand  was  the  neck  of  land  that  inclosed  the  little  bay, 
running  out  to  the  light-house  point ;  and  on  the  other  side  of 
the  bay  the  bright,  warm  shores  of  the  island  of  Skye.  The  air 
was  sweet  with  the  freshness  of  the  sea ;  the  sunlight  flashed  on 
the  rushing  waves :  where  could  she  find  in  all  the  world  a  more 
splendid  panorama  of  mountains,  sea,  and  sky  ? 

James  Drummond  was  alone  on  deck.  When  he  took  her 
hand,  she  meekly  waited  until  he  kissed  her  on  the  forehead : 
that  was  thereafter  to  be  their  morning  greeting. 

"  We  shall  remember  these  days  in  the  Highlands,"  he  said. 
"  Each  of  them  is  worth  many  years  to  me." 

She  looked  up ;  and  then  for  the  first  time  he  noticed  that  her 
eyelashes  were  wet. 


FOREBODINGS.  247 

"I  hope  we  shall  not  remember  them  with  pain,"  she  said 
quickly,  struck  with  something  in  his  tone. 

"No;  why  should  we?  But  what  has  been  troubling  you, 
Violet?" 

She  began  to  laugh  through  her  tears. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"  If  it  is  no  very  terrible  secret." 

"  This  has  been  troubling  me — too  much  happiness.  And  it 
is  to  you  I  owe  it  all — every  thing — my  being  here,  and  all  that 
followed." 

The  extreme  self-abnegation  of  the  girl  touched  him  deeply.  It 
was  not  a  thing  to  be  idly  argued  away  with  commonplace  phrases. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  put  your  arm  in  mine,  and  we 
will  go  for  our  morning  walk,  Violet." 

They  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  deck.  It  would 
have  gladdened  the  heart  of  the  merest  stranger  to  have  seen  the 
brightness  of  this  girl's  face. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  write  about  next?"  she  asked, 
humbly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  Holiday  -making  is  our 
business  at  present." 

"  When  I  was  in  Canada,"  she  observed,  "  I  copied  a  great 
many  of  papa's  letters." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  not  catching  her  drift. 

"  I  can  copy  manuscript." 

"  Yes." 

He  would  not  see. 

"If — "  she  said,  in  desperation  —  "do  you  think  —  that  I  — 
that  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  you  when  you  are  writing  ? — any  use 
at  all—" 

He  stopped;  and  she  cast  her  eyes  doAvn — blushing  and  em- 
barrassed. With  both  hands  he  gently  pushed  the  beautiful  hair 
back  from  her  forehead,  and  raised  her  face  a  bit,  and  regarded 
her  with  a  great  kindliness,  with  perhaps  a  touch  of  sadness  in 
his  look. 

"  Violet,  you  must  not  speak  of  being  of  use  to  me.  You  talk 
as  if  I  had  done  you  some  favor.  God  knows  it  is  very  different 
from  that :  you  have  altered  the  whole  world  for  me." 

His  hand  was  a  little  more  firmly  pressed ;  that  had  gladdened 
her.     But  all  the  same  she  said, 


248  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  it,  if  you  do  not  wish  it.  But  I  know 
that  what  I  am  trying  to  do  is  right." 

So  far,  well.  What  she  now  proceeded  to  do  was  scarcely  in 
accordance  with  these  submissive  tenets.  Amy  Warrener  came 
on  deck :  the  two  young  ladies  had  a  private  talk  together.  Then 
there  was  a  plunge  down  into  the  cabin ;  after  which  they  came 
on  deck  again,  and  appeared  much  interested  in  the  fastening  of 
the  rope  which  attached  the  dinghy  to  the  yacht.  At  this  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Warrener  made  her  appearance,  and  walked  up  to  the 
two  girls. 

"  What's  this  you  have,  Amy  ?  What  is  this,  Violet  ?  I  thought 
so !" 

She  dispossessed  them  of  two  pretty  little  packages,  each  con- 
taining a  bathing-dress. 

"  So  you  were  going  to  slip  away  ashore  ?" 

"  Indeed  we  were ;  and  we  are ;  and  why  not  I"  said  Violet, 
boldly,  but  not  at  all  liking  this  publicity. 

"  And  you  were  going  away  along  that  wild  shore,  where  there 
isn't  a  living  thing  to  be  seen — " 

"  That  was  >vhy  we  wanted  to  go,"  observed  Miss  Violet. 

"  To  seek  out  some  place  where  you  don't  know  the  currents 
and  tides !  I  tell  you,  Violet,  you  will  be  drowned  some  day,  as 
sure  as  you  are  alive  now.     Haven't  you  had  a  lesson  already  ?" 

"  No." 

The  fact  was  that  about  half  a  mile  from  Castle  Bandbox,  in  a 
little,  quiet,  sheltered  sandy  bay  on  the  coast,  there  was  a  private 
bathing-machine,  the  owners  of  which  had  offered  a  duplicate  key 
to  Mr.  Drummond  for  the  use  of  the  young  ladies.  They  availed 
themselves  of  the  privilege  only  too  freely  ;  for  Miss  Violet  would 
never  be  deterred  by  the  roughness  of  the  sea,  notwithstanding 
Mrs.  Warrener's  repeated  assurances  that  she  would  be  drowned. 
Amy  Warrener  was  a  good  deal  more  timid;  and  it  was  some 
story  of  hers  as  to  an  imaginary  danger  into  which  Violet  had 
got  that  was  now  brought  forward  to  enforce  her  protest. 

It  was  of  no  use. 

"  The  sea  is  quite  quiet  in  here,"  the  young  lady  remonstrated. 
"  The  tide  is  coming  in.  We  are  sure  to  get  a  nice  quiet  place 
along  there  round  the  .point." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  drown  yourselves  ?" 

"  Yes.     We  are  quite  tired  of  life,"  was  the  calm  answer. 


FOREBODINGS.  249 

"  James,"  bis  sister  called,  "  come  here  and  stop  these  foolish 
girls." 

"  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Violet,  "  would  you  please  help  me  to 
get  up  the  dinghy  ?     We  can  row  ashore  ourselves." 

He  had  heard  the  whole  dispute :  he  remained  in  mute  delib- 
eration. 

"  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  that  there 
is  a  great  deal  to  be  considered  on  both  sides  of  this  question ; 
but  if  I  endeavored  to  explain  its  niceties  fully,  and  hoped  in  con- 
sequence to  control  the  willfulness  of  a  lot  of  raging  women — will 
you  allow  me  to  proceed? — I  should  resemble  a  spider  that  has 
set  its  web  to  catch  a  fly,  and  finds  it  charged  by  a  bull  or  a  buf- 
falo.    The  broad  features  of  the  case,  however — " 

"  Will  you  order  them  down  to  their  breakfast  ?" 

"  Do  please  haul  up  the  dinghy  !" 

"  — may  be  described.  There  is  no  just  and  lawful  reason  why 
these  young  ladies  should  not  be  allowed  to  go  ashore  and  bathe." 

"  Hear,  hear !" 

"  It  is  true,  if  they  were  drowned,  it  might  be  looked  on  as 
suicide ;  and  we  might  be  charged  with  being  jmrticipes  criminis. 
At  the  same  time,  and  in  view  of  the  further  circumstance  that  a 
man,  no  matter  how  fast  he  walks,  can  not  walk  away  from  the 
centre  of  the  earth — an  illustration  which  might  come  in  handy 
to  those  who  maintain  that  anthropomorphism — like  the  morpho- 
logical theory  in  botany,  which  traces  the  leaf-form — " 

What  was  this  going  on  forward  ?  The  trick  was  manifest. 
He  had  talked  the  measure  out.  Overhearing  the  dispute  in  the 
first  instance,  he  had  quietly  asked  Captain  Jimmy  to  get  up  his 
men  and  weigh  anchor,  the  jib  being  already  set ;  and  now  the 
young  women  were  civilly  asked  whether,  in  the  event  of  their 
going  ashore,  they  could  swim  fast  enough  to  overtake  the  Sea- 
Pyot  as  she  got  up  farther  sail  and  betook  herself  again  to  the 
north.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  an  unconditional  surren- 
der. Tricked,  disappointed,  and  meditating  gloomy  schemes  of 
revenge,  the  two  young  women  went  below  to  breakfast.  Their 
enemies  had  not  heard  the  last  of  this. 

But  when  they  went  on  deck  again,  and  found  the  Sea-Pyot 
well  out  in  the  bright  blue  waters,  and  running  free  before  a 
brisk  southerly  wind,  the  bracing  sea-breeze  soon  blew  away  their 
discontent ;  and  all  their  attention  was  directed  to  the  singular 

11* 


250  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

beauty  of  the  scenes  they  were  passing.  Along  the  distant  coast 
of  the  main-land  the  mountains  were  here  and  there  steeped  in 
a  misty  blue  shadow  —  just  dark  enough  to  show  the  gleaming 
white  of  a  sea-gull  or  gannet  crossing ;  but  on  their  left  the  shores 
of  Skye  were  basking  in  the  warm  sunlight,  and  they  were  near 
enough  at  hand  to  see  the  pink  of  the  heather,  the  dark  green  of 
the  occasional  woods,  and  the  lilac-gray  of  the  rocks  by  the  sea. 
Very  lonely  shores  indeed  these  were :  here  and  there  the  brown 
sea-weed  or  the  sunlit  sand  showed  a  long  string  of  curlew,  sea- 
pyots,  and  gulls,  that  rose  in  dense  flocks  as  the  vessel  approach- 
ed, and  flew  screaming  away  to  some  farther  bay.  And  when  at 
last  they  did  see  some  sign  of  human  life  in  the  presence  of  a 
few  houses,  did  not  these  small  hut-like  dwellings  look  only  like 
part  of  the  debris  which  had  been  washed  down  by  the  rains  of 
centuries  from  the  great,  shining,  silent  slopes  of  the  mountains 
above  them  ? 

"  Look  there,"  said  a  certain  discursive  talker  to  a  select  audi- 
ence of  one  person ;  "  I  wonder  if  those  poor  people  ever  consider 
how  they  came  to  be  there.  I  suppose  not :  I  suppose  they  con- 
sider the  great  mountains  above  them  were  made  to  support  their 
sheep,  and  not  very  well  made  either,  for  they  are  very  steep  and 
bare.  It  is  not  the  worker  in  the  affairs  of  the  world  who  sees 
most — it  is  the  idler,  the  passing  spectator.  But  I  have  not  been 
idle  this  morning — " 

"  What  have  you  done  ?"  asked  the  audience. 

"  I  have  put  the  finishing  touches  to  my  epitaph  on  the  race 
of  publishers." 

"  But  they  are  not  all  going  to  die  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  all  at  once,"  he  said,  "  unfortunately.  But  you  could 
put  this  epitaph  on  the  grave-stone  of  each  as  he  went.  And  as 
I  was  in  among  the  tombs  anyway,  I  got  together  a  few  other 
epitaphs  for  persons  I  know." 

"  How  very  delightful !  What  a  charming  occupation  !  Have 
you  got  them  2" 

"  They  are  all  in  Latin.  No,  I  have  done  an  English  one  for 
Vernon  Harcourt:  He  resembled  a  Virgilian  verse  —  he  was  six 
feet  long,  and  sonorous.  Will  that  do  ?  Look  at  those  mount- 
ains now — it  isn't  forty  centuries  that  are  gazing  down  on  you, 
but  forty  millions  of  centuries.  And,  after  all,  that  is  of  no 
moment — the  problem  of  creation  is  nothing;  the  great  myste- 


FOREBODINGS.  251 

ry  is  the  existence  of  any  thing.  What  supports  the  tortoise? 
Chemistry  can  resolve  the  fabric  of  the  world  into  elements ;  but 
where  did  these  elementary  subjects  come  from  ?  You  can  not 
comprehend  any  thing  without  a  beginning;  and  at  the  same 
time  you  can  not  imagine — but  I  think  we  are  getting  into  meta- 
pheesics,  which  may  be  a  sort  of  telluric  fever  blown  across  from 
the  Scotch  shore.  Look  at  that  cormorant — on  the  rock — with 
his  wings  outspread,  as  if  he  were  challenging  you  to  have  a  rifle- 
shot at  him." 

"  James !"  his  sister  called  out,  as  she  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  companion-stairs,  clinging  with  both  hands  to  the  hatchway, 
"  surely  the  sea  is  rising !" 

"  Not  much ;  but  we  have  got  into  the  Narrows." 

"If  she  goes  on  plunging  like  this,  we  shall  have  every  thing 
down  below  smashed  to  bits ;  and  I  shall  be  ill — which  is  worse." 

"  We  may  get  into  sheltered  water  when  we  get  round  Kyle 
Rea  point :  the  tide  and  the  wind  are  meeting  here — that's  what's 
the  matter." 

They  did  indeed  get  into  more  sheltered  water  after  they  had 
rounded  the  point  and  stood  away  for  the  west,  but  it  was  a 
treacherous  sort  of  shelter.  The  wind  came  down  from  the  high 
mountains  in  sudden  gusts  and  squalls,  that  demanded  all  the  care 
and  activity  of  the  skipper  and  his  men  ;  one  moment  the  yacht 
would  be  lying  almost  becalmed,  the  next  moment  she  would  be 
heeled  over  almost  on  her  beam-ends  with  a  heavy  gust  from  the 
hills.  In  the  moments  of  calm,  when  Mr.  Drummond  and  his 
companion  had  less  anxiety  about  keeping  a  tight  grip  of  the 
shrouds,  they  could  see  that  by  far  the  most  striking  picture  they 
had  yet  met  with  lay  right  in  front  of  them.  Nature  here  seem- 
ed self-composed  into  a  landscape.  On  the  left,  the  outlines  of 
the  great  mountains  of  Skye  descended  and  ran  out  to  a  narrow- 
ing point,  on  which  stood  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle ;  on  the  right 
another  promontory  ran  out,  ending  in  a  light -house;  between 
these  lay  a  plain  of  rough,  gray,  wind-swept  sea ;  while  the  sun, 
shining  behind  the  shadowed  point  where  the  ruined  castle  stood, 
lighted  up  the  great  red  granite  shoulders  of  Ben-na-Cailleach  and 
the  still  more  distant  peaks  —  blue,  sharp,  and  jagged  —  of  the 
Cuchullins.  It  was  a  picture  that  altered  every  minute,  as  new 
bays,  peaks,  and  stretches  of  sea  came  into  view.  When  Mrs. 
Warrener  and  her  daughter  were  summoned  up  to  look  at  it,  how- 


252  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

ever,  there  was  a  defaulter.  Miss  Amy  had  considered  it  more 
prudent  to  lie  down. 

They  had  some  tight  work  of  it  to  get  into  Broadford  Bay ; 
for,  having  run  along  Loch  Alsh  with  the  wind  on  their  port 
beam,  and  now  bringing  her  head  sharply  round  to  the  south, 
they  had  necessarily  the  wind  almost  in  their  teeth,  and  it  was 
tearing  across  the  open  bay  so  as  to  blind  them  with  showers  of 
foam.  Once,  indeed,  in  beating  up  they  got  so  near  to  certain 
rocks  which  are  marked  with  an  iron  perch,  that  it  was  only 
Drummond's  confidence  in  Captain  Jimmy's  prudence  that  pre- 
vented his  calling  out  to  the  men  to  put  the  vessel  about  before 
the  skipper  gave  the  order.  It  was  in  any  case  a  narrow  escape ; 
turbulent  as  the  waves  were,  they  were  near  enough  to  see  the 
brown  rocks  far  down  in  the  clear,  blue  water,  and  dangerously 
close  to  the  stern  of  the  boat.  However,  nothing  was  said ;  and 
after  some  arduous  work,  they  finally  reached  what  was  considered 
the  proper  anchorage,  and  the  heavy  chain  swung  out  with  a  roar. 

Naturally  they  were  anxious  to  get  on  shore — the  women  more 
especially  ;  for  they  had  not  seen  a  shop  for  an  unconscionable 
time,  and  there  might  probably  be  a  shop  or  two  in  that  little 
cluster  of  white  houses  running  along  the  semicircular  shores  of 
the  bay.  But  the  skipper,  having  got  the  sails  put  to  rights,  and 
ordered  a  couple  of  the  men  to  lower  the  gig,  somewhat  damped 
the  ardor  of  the  party  by  saying  that,  if  they  wished  to  purchase 
any  provisions,  they  ought  to  go  to  the  post-office  and  ask  wheth- 
er any  one  in  the  neighborhood  had  killed  a  sheep  lately,  and 
that,  if  they  wished  for  loaf-bread,  they  would  have  to  see  wheth- 
er the  steamer  had  brought  a  sufficient  supply  from  Glasgow. 
However,  yachting  people  like  to  land  on  any  excuse ;  and  so 
they  merrily  set  off  for  the  shore — Miss  Amy,  who  had  now  re- 
covered her  equanimity,  included. 

They  were  glad  to  set  their  foot  for  the  first  time  on  the  island 
of  Skye ;  they  were  pleased  with  the  look  of  the  white  houses, 
the  dark-green  line  of  trees,  and  the  great  bulk  of  Ben-na-Cail- 
leach  rising  right  behind ;  they  were  talking,  laughing,  and  joking 
as  the  men  rowed  them  into  the  small  quay.  Suddenly  Mrs. 
Warrener — in  the  most  innocent  fashion  possible — indeed,  with 
the  best  intentions  in  the  world — said, 

"  Violet,  did  Mr.  Miller  say  any  thing  about  letting  you  know 
how  he  got  on  that  Sunday  ?" 


FOREBODINGS.  253 

The  girl  was  startled  by  the  mere  mention  of  the  name.  It 
seemed  to  her  there  was  some  sort  of  accusation  in  it ;  she  had 
been  grossly  forgetful,  unpitying,  selfish  in  the  enjoyment  of  her 
own  happiness. 

"  N-no,"  she  stammered ;  and  Mrs.  Warrener  was  surprised 
to  notice  the  confusion  visible  in  the  girl's  face.  She  ought,  the 
elder  lady  considered,  to  have  been  pleased.  If  there  had  been  a 
lover's  quarrel,  what  more  natural  than  that  the  suggestion  of  a 
possibility  of  patching  it  up  again  should  give  her  pleasure  ? 

"Because  I  was  thinking  he  would  probably  write  to  Broad- 
ford  or  Portree.  He  knew  we  were  going  to  both  places,"  said 
Mrs.  Warrener. 

Violet  North  did  not  seem  overjoyed  by  this  intimation.  She 
sat  silent,  thoughtful,  embarrassed ;  she  was  immensely  relieved 
when  they  reached  the  quay,  for  then  she  walked  on  ahead  with 
Amy,  and  her  friend,  imagining  that  something  was  wrong,  re- 
frained from  speaking  to  her. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  small  village  of  course  came  out  to  their 
doors  to  have  a  look  at  the  strangers,  who  gave  them  every  oppor- 
tunity, for  there  was  much  loitering  in  front  of  the  few  shop- 
windows,  most  of  which  contained  a  miscellaneous  heap  of  such 
things  as  soap,  needles,  Glengarry  caps,  comforters,  buttons,  bis- 
cuits, gunpowder,  acidulated  drops,  and  so  forth.  The  objective 
point  of  their  wanderings,  however,  was  the  post-office,  which  odd 
little  building  they  discovered  imbedded  in  trees  at  some  little 
distance  from  the  town.  The  lady  who  presided  there  was  the 
most  courteous  of  persons,  who  not  only  gave  the  strangers  all  the 
information  they  required,  but  invited  them  to  look  at  her  gar- 
den ;  and,  as  Miss  Violet  was  surprised  to  find  such  a  brilliant 
show  of  dahlias  in  this  remote  spot,  nothing  would  do  but  that 
she  must  carry  away  a  selection  of  them — a  gorgeous  bouquet 
which  adorned  the  saloon  of  the  Sea-Pyot  for  days  afterward. 

"And  now,"  said  Violet  to  this  good  lady  —  for  she  was  too 
proud  to  shrink  from  the  task,  "  would  you  see  if  you  have  any 
letters  for  us  ?" 

She  went  inside  and  took  their  cards.     There  was  no  letter. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  got  safely  back  to  London,"  said  Violet, 
calmly. 

"  He  was  going  straight  back  to  London  then  ?"  Mrs.  Warrener 
asked. 


254  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

"  I  suppose  so.     He  did  not  tell  me." 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  grieved.  She  had  a  great  affection  for  this 
girl ;  and  she  was  sorry  to  see  her  being  made  miserable  by  a  lov- 
er's quarrel.  Was  it  not  a  pity  to  find  two  young  people,  just 
at  the  pleasantest  time  of  their  lives,  making  each  other  wretched 
for  no  cause  in  the  world  ?  They  could  have  nothing  real  to 
quarrel  about.  All  the  circumstances  were  favorable ;  all  their 
friends  were  consentient.  Mrs.  Warrener  resolved  to  speak  to  Vi- 
olet about  this  matter ;  and  hoped  she  might  be  the  means  of  rec- 
onciling those  two  who  were  obviously  destined  to  become  hus- 
band and  wife. 

She  soon  found  an  opportunity.  They  went  for  a  walk  along 
a  road  leading  inland ;  and  now,  as  the  wind  had  died  down,  and 
as  the  afternoon  had  become  clear,  and  beautiful,  and  still,  they 
were  in  no  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  yacht. 

"  Violet,"  said  the  gentle-voiced  little  woman,  linking  her  arm 
within  that  of  the  girl,  "  I  am  really  vexed  about  all  this ;  and  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  if  I  can  not  do  something.  Now,  dear,  don't 
answer  in  a  hurry.  I  know  what  a  girl  is ;  and  I  expect  you  to 
declare  that  you  don't  care  for  him,  and  that  you  would  rather 
never  see  him  again.  Every  girl  says  that  when  she  has  a  quar- 
rel with  her  sweetheart ;  and  she  remains  miserable  out  of  pure 
willfulness.  Now,  what  is  the  use  of  your  both  being  wretched, 
when  a  word  of  explanation  would  clear  it  all  up  ?  Shall  I  write 
to  him  ?" 

"What  could  she  answer?  For  the  first  time  the  peculiar  posi- 
tion in  which  she  stood  to  this  kind  friend  of  hers  was  flashed  in 
on  her  consciousness,  and  she  stood  confronted  by  the  possibili- 
ty of  being  charged  with  deceit.  She  had  never  considered  that 
some  one  else  might  have  a  right  to  that  secret  which  she  had 
been  cherishing  in  her  own  heart.  Was  it  necessary,  then,  that 
this  strange  and  new  experience  of  hers  should  be  blazoned  abroad 
to  the  world,  and  become  the  talk  of  friends  and  acquaintances  ? 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  she  said,  almost  piteously.  "  It  is  a  mis- 
take— it  is  all  a  mistake.  There  is  no  quarrel — but  indeed  I  can 
not  tell  you  just  yet — not  just  yet — " 

She  would  ask  Mr.  Drummond,  she  thought ;  he  was  her  mas- 
ter in  all  things:  she  would  rather  be  charged  with  concealment 
than  run  tho  risk  of  doing  something  he  might  not  approve. 

"  You  do  not  wish  me  to  write  to  him  ?"  her  kind  friend  said. 


FOREBODINGS.  255 

"To  Mr.  Miller?    Oh  no!" 

They  walked  along  in  silence,  and  Violet  was  grieved  and 
troubled.  Now  that  it  was  probable  her  secret  would  have  to  be 
told,  how  could  she  defend  herself  from  the  charge  of  being  cruel 
to  this  young  man?  It  is  true  she  had  thought  of  him  often 
since  his  leaving  her  that  Sunday,  and  thought  of  him  with  a 
great  pity,  and  some  self-reproach  which  was  but  little  merited ; 
but  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself  that  she  had  experienced 
a  wonderful  sense  of  freedom  since  his  departure,  and  that  her 
heart  had  grown  light  in  consequence.  Yet  it  seemed  to  her  self- 
ish that  she  should  be  proud  and  glad  in  her  happiness;  while  he 
— the  sweetheart  of  her  school-girl  days,  who  had  patiently  waited 
on  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  favorable  answer — was  cut  adrift,  not 
only  from  her,  but  also  from  his  friends. 

"  I  am  not  to  be  snubbed,"  said  the  fair-haired  little  woman, 
cheerfully.  "  You  know,  Violet,  what  intermeddlers  get,  as  a 
rule ;  but  I  must  risk  that  for  your  sake.  We  can  not  have  you 
go  through  all  these  beautiful  places  with  a  rueful  face ;  and  if 
you  won't  let  me  write  to  Mr.  Miller,  then  I  must  go  and  ask 
James — " 

"  Oh  no !"  Violet  said,  with  an  eager  piteousness  in  her  eyes. 

"  Come,  come,  you  foolish  girl.  I  mean  to  speak  to  him  this 
very  moment." 

She  caught  her  friend  by  the  arm  to  stay  her. 

"  Indeed  you  must  not !  Do  grant  me  this  favor,  Mrs.  Warren- 
er — only  to  wait :  it  is  all  a  mistake,  and  there  is  something  you 
must  be  told — " 

"  More  secrets  ?" 

The  girl  did  not  answer. 

"Very  well,  if  you  wish,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said,  gently,  "I  will 
wait ;  but  mind,  you  must  get  rid  of  your  trouble,  or  else  come 
and  ask  my  help." 

In  the  glow  of  the  evening  they  turned  back  from  the  quiet 
moor-land  ways  and  made  for  the  shore.  They  almost  felt  dis- 
appointed that  the  great  range  of  mountains  on  their  left  should 
shut  out  the  sinking  sun  :  they  had  grown  accustomed  to  see  the 
sun  set  over  the  western  seas. 

But  when  they  drew  near  to  Broadford,  and  overlooked  the 
great,  broad,  still  bay,  a  simultaneous  cry  of  admiration  broke 
from  them,  for  never  before,  not  even  in  their  dreams,  had  they 


256  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

seen  such  a  magical  display  of  color.  Far  over  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  bay,  the  great  mountains,  from  base  to  summit,  were  one 
mass  of  pale,  ethereal  pink — a  -world  in  rose-color,  that  towered 
up  into  a  sky  of  glowing  amber.  It  was  bewildering  to  the  eyes ; 
and  yet  it  was  exquisitely  soft — as  soft  as  the  pink  reflections  of 
the  hills  that  shone  on  the  smooth  bosom  of  the  loch.  When 
they  turned  from  this  palely  roseate  panorama  of  mountains  to  the 
west,  the  contrast  was  most  striking.  Here  the  mountains,  close 
at  hand,  were  all  in  shadow ;  and  before  them  lay  a  stretch  of 
moor-land,  its  dark,  rich,  intense  olive-greens  cut  asunder  by  a  sil- 
ver streak  of  river.  As  they  walked  along  they  could  see  that 
these  dark  western  mountains  were  throwing  their  shadows  right 
across  the  bay,  until  they  began  to  creep  up  the  rose -colored 
slopes  of  the  distant  hills.  At  length  only  the  tops  of  the  far 
mountains  caught  the  flame  ;  and  now,  close  by  them,  as  it  seem- 
ed to  be,  the  golden  disk  of  the  summer  moon  came  up  behind 
some  trees,  and  the  cold  greens  of  the  fields  hard  by  became  still 
more  intense.     It  was  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  men  were  waiting  at  the  quay ;  they  pulled  out  to  the 
yacht  as  the  cold  gray  twilight  came  over  the  hills,  and  as  the 
yellow  moon  rose  in  the  south. 

"You  are  tired  with  your  walk,  Violet,"  James  Drummond 
said,  regarding  her. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  pleasant  to  get  a  good  long  walk 
after  being  on  board  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  You  will  be  better  pleased  to-morrow,  when  we  drive  to  Tor- 
ran  ;  you  ought  to  feel  like  a  sailor  when  he  gets  into  a  hansom- 
cab." 

"When  shall  we  go  on  to  Portree?" 

"  Probably  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Are  you  anxious  to  get 
on?" 

"  Oh  no ;  not  at  all." 

Mrs.  Warrener  heard  the  question  and  answer,  and  drew  her  own 
inferences.  Portree  was  the  next  point  at  which  they  would  find 
a  post-office. 

All  that  evening  Violet  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  a  word 
with  Mr.  Drummond  alone ;  for  the  night  was  very  beautiful,  and 
they  all  came  up  after  dinner  and  sat  on  deck.  The  water  was 
indeed  so  still  that  there  were  no  ripples  for  the  moonlight  to 
catch.     The  smooth  water  around  them  was  almost  black ;  but 


FOREBODINGS.  257 

all  along  the  shore  a  mist  lay  thick,  and  that  had  caught  the 
moonlight.  The  decks  and  spars,  too,  were  touched  with  the 
ghostly  light,  contrasting  with  the  orange  glow  shed  by  the  lamp 
at  the  ship's  head. 

The  party  was  not  quite  so  gay  that  night  as  it  sometimes  had 
been ;  though  Mr.  Drummond,  all  unwitting  of  any  change,  was 
in  one  of  his  happiest  moods.  Mrs.  Warrener  had  to  confess  to 
herself  that  if  Violet  had  of  late  been  occasionally  out  of  spirits, 
her  brother  seemed  to  have  got  to  the  other  extreme.  She  had 
never  known  him  remain  so  long  in  the  very  brightest  of  humors. 

When  the  women  retired  for  the  night,  Violet  allowed  Mrs. 
Warrener  and  Amy  to  precede  her;  then  she  returned  to  the 
deck  for  a  moment,  where  Mr.  Drummond  was  gathering  up  the 
shawls  and  cushions.  He  turned  quickly ;  she  timidly  took  his 
hand. 

"  Will  you  do  me  this  favor  ?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Will 
you  tell  your  sister  ?" 

"Yes  —  certainly  —  why  not?"  he  answered,  quite  cheerfully. 
"  I  did  not  know  whether  you  wished  it  or  not ;  but  of  course 
she  ought  to  know,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  N-not  to  night,"  the  girl  murmured. 

"Not  if  you  do  not  wish  it,"  he  said;  and  then,  more  closely 
regarding  her,  he  saw  that  she  was  extremely  agitated. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Violet?" 

"  I  am  so  afraid,"  she  said,  and  he  knew  that  her  hand  was 
trembling. 

"Of  what?" 

"  If  we  could  only  have  gone  on,"  she  said,  with  a  passionate 
outburst  of  feeling ;  "  if  we  could  only  have  gone  on  as  we  have 
been  doing  these  two  happy  days,  what  more  could  have  been 
wished  ?     But  now — if  every  body  must  know — " 

"  Every  body  need  not  know — "  he  was  beginning  to  say,  when 
again  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Your  sister  will  hate  me,"  she  said,  passionately. 

"  She  will  love  you  more  than  ever — you  will  be  her  only  sister. 
But  why  all  this  timorousness  at  once?  Where  is  the  courageous 
Violet?  Come  now,  let  me  go  down  below  this  minute,  and  have 
the  whole  thing  settled.  One  plunge,  and  it  is  all  over.  Bless 
.my  soul,  why  didn't  I  speak  to  her  without  dragging  you  into  it  ? 
It  is  the  simplest  matter  in  the  world." 


258  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"No  —  to-rnorrow,"  she  said,  quickly  and  earnestly,  and  then 
she  kissed  the  hand  that  she  still  held,  and  went  below.  He 
could  not  quite  understand  what  all  this  meant. 

As  for  her,  she  tried  hard,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  to  rea- 
son herself  out  of  the  forebodings  which,  in  spite  of  herself,  kept 
surging  in  on  her  mind.  Why  should  she  be  afraid  of  this  gen- 
tle little  woman,  who  had  been  so  invariably  kind  to  her  ?  What 
possible  motive  could  any  human  being  have  for  interfering  with 
her  happiness?  And  then  she  reproached  herself  for  thinking 
only  of  her  own  happiness;  and  her  fancies  went  away  to  an- 
other who  had  a  far  better  reason  to  complain,  and  she  asked  her- 
self again  and  again,  "  Was  it  my  fault?  was  it  my  fault?" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LOCH    CORUISK. 


He  had  no  fear  or  embarrassment  in  breaking  this  news  to  his 
sister  when  he  found  her  alone  in  the  saloon  next  morning.  He 
had  an  absolute  faith  in  her  unselfishness ;  he  could  not  doubt 
but  that  she  would  be  eager  to  take  Violet  still  more  closely  to 
her  heart. 

And  yet,  as  he  told  her  in  the  twilight  of  the  cabin,  he  was 
amazed  to  see  her  face  grow  pale.  She  retreated  a  step  from 
him ;  pain,  apprehension,  dismay — all  were  visible  in  her  face  and 
in  her  frightened  eyes. 

"  Oh,  James,  is  it  true  ?"  she  said. 

The  whole  story  was  clear  to  her ;  she  saw  as  the  end  of  it 
only  the  misery  of  the  two  people  whom,  next  to  her  own  daugh- 
ter, she  loved  most  dearly  in  the  world. 

"  Well !"  said  he,  astonished.     "  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  James,  you  don't  know  what  all  this  is !  I  can  see  it. 
I  have  dreaded  it.  And  I  don't  know  which  is  the  more  to  be 
pitied  now,  for  she  is  proud — she  won't  draw  back — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sarah  ?  I  insist  on  your  speaking  more 
plainly,"  said  he. 

"  Can  not  you  see  the  whole  story  ?"  she  said,  rapidly  and 
vehemently,  yet  with  a  great  pity  and  tenderness  in  her  eyes. 


LOCH    CORUISK.  259 

"  That  poor  girl  has  a  quarrel  with  her  sweetheart ;  he  is  angry 
and  goes  away ;  she  is  proud,  offended,  her  dignity  is  wounded : 
she  resolves  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him.  Then,  to 
revenge  herself,  she  turns  to  you;  and  you,  you  make  her  be- 
lieve that  the  friendly  affection  you  have  always  shown  her  will 
reconcile  her  to  the  loss  of  her  lover.  And  what  will  be  the  end 
of  it  ?  Isn't  the  story  told  every  day  ?  The  girl  repents  when  it 
is  too  late — when  the  discarded  lover  can  not  be  brought  back ; 
when  she  and  the  man  she  has  married  out  of  spite  find  them- 
selves chained  to  each  other  for  life  through  a  cruel  mistake." 

For  a  moment  he  was  staggered.  The  story  was  terribly  life- 
like— clear,  concise,  and  probable.  It  was  obvious,  too,  that  this 
gentle  little  woman  was  moved  by  no  animus  against  the  girl ; 
she  was  as  anxious  for  Violet's  happiness  as  his  own. 

"  What  you  say  is  very  true,  Sarah,"  said  he,  calmly,  "  true  in 
many  cases ;  not  in  this  one.  I  have  told  you  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel — " 

"  It  is  the  commonest  one  in  the  world,"  she  continued,  quickly. 
"  Young  men  are  always  jealous :  he  was  doubtless  thinking  she 
did  not  pay  him  enough  attention,  and  then  accused  her  of  pay- 
ing far  more  attention  to  you.  That  is  true  enough.  Violet  has 
always  shown  the  greatest  respect — and  I  will  say  affection  too — 
for  you.  Well,  you  know  how  high-spirited  the  girl  is.  If  he 
spoke  to  her  like  that,  would  she  bear  it  ?  She  would  tell  him  to 
go ;  she  would  leave  him  to  infer  what  he  likes ;  and  then,  in  a 
moment  of  wounded  pride,  she  turns  to  you  and  tries  to  persuade 
herself  that  she  loves  you  well  enough  to  marry  you.  What  can 
come  of  it,  James  ?  what  can  come  of  it  ?  Do  you  think  she  has 
forgotten  him  ?  Did  you  not  notice  how  much  embarrassed  she 
was  yesterday  after  I  had  spoken  to  her  about  asking  for  a  letter 
at  the  post-office  ?  And  I  am  sure  you  must  see  how  anxious  she 
is  to  get  to  Portree." 

It  was  all  terribly  consistent  and  probable — his  reason  had  to 
admit  that ;  but  he  was  too  firm  a  man  to  be  led  into  jumping  at 
conclusions. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  said  to  his  sister.  "  You  may  be  right. 
This  poor  girl  may  have  been  driven  into  an  error,  as  you  say ; 
and  we  may  both  be  in  a  very  painful  and  mistaken  position.  If 
that  is  so,  we  must  get  out  of  it." 

He  spoke  quite  calmly  ;  there  was  no  expression  of  emotion  on 


2G0  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

his  face.  The  agony  was  in  his  heart ;  for  it  seemed  hard  to  ad- 
mit even  the  possibility  that  these  two  glad  days  that  had  just 
passed  by  had  been  lighted  up  by  a  false  light  of  happiness,  and 
that  there  were  to  be  no  more  even  of  these  deceitful  joys. 

"But  what  I  will  take  care  of  is  this  —  that  there  shall  be  no 
misunderstanding  in  the  matter.  Violet  has  stated  certain  things 
to  me ;  I  can  accept  a  denial  of  them  only  from  herself.  If  what 
you  say,  or  guess  at,  is  true,  there  is  nothing  more  simple  than  to 
get  confirmation  from  the  girl  herself,  and  that  I  will  do  at  once." 

She  caught  his  hand. 

"  My  dear  brother,  don't  speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  doing  you 
an  injury.  Do  you  know  how  it  pains  me  to  have  to  tell  you? 
Do  you  think  there  is  any  body  in  the  world  would  rejoice  more 
to  see  you  and  our  Violet  married,  if  that  could  be  for  the  happi- 
ness of  both  of  you  ?" 

"  I  know  that,  Sarah,"  said  he.  "  And  I  know  all  this  is  kind- 
ly meant.     But,  first,  let's  see  what  truth  there  is  in  it." 

"James,  do  not  go  to  her,"  she  pleaded.  "You  don't  know 
what  girls  are.  You  would  put  her  on  her  honor ;  she  would 
hold  bv  her  engagement  at  any  cost.  She  has  had  no  time  to  re- 
flect." 

"  Do  you  mean  me,  then,  to  harbor  all  these  suspicions  against 
the  girl,  and  say  no  word  to  her?"  he  demanded,  with  some 
warmth. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  the  little  woman  answered,  courageously,  "for  her 
sake.  You  want  to  see  her  happy ;  I  am  anxious  for  the  happi- 
ness of  both  of  you.  And  I  tell  you  that  is  what  she  would  do 
now,  James ;  she  would  be  ashamed  to  say  she  had  made  a  mis- 
take; she  would  consider  herself  bound  in  honor  to  keep  her 
word  to  you ;  very  likely  her  quarrel  with  Mr.  Miller  still  rankles 
in  her  mind.  What  harm  can  there  be  in  waiting?  Do  not 
drive  her  into  a  corner." 

Yes — he  admitted  that  what  she  said  was  just.  Violet's  hap- 
piness was  of  more  concern  to  him  than  his  own.  ^If  it  was  true 
— and  of  course  he  did  not  admit  that  as  yet — that  she  had  blun- 
dered into  this  engagement  in  a  moment  of  pique,  she  would  be 
allowed  time  to  repent,  and  ample  opportunities  of  escape. 

The  world  did  not  look  quite  so  glad  and  beautiful  to  this 
man  when  he  went  up  on  deck  and  glanced  around  at  the  sea 
and  the  hills.     His  face  had  something  of  the  old,  tired  expres- 


LOCH    CORUISK.  261 

sion  it  used  to  have  at  times  in  London — a  look  that  Violet,  who 
feared  it,  had  never  seen  since  he  had  come  to  the  Highlands. 
And  at  this  moment,  too,  Violet  and  her  companion  Amy  ap- 
peared— coming  on  board  from  the  dinghy,  in  which  they  had 
sought  out  a  sheltered  nook  along  the  shore  for  their  morning 
bath.  Bright  youth  and  health  flushed  in  the  faces  of  both  the 
girls  as  they  stepped  on  deck ;  the  morning  sunlight  that  shone 
on  the  sea  around  them  was  not  more  brilliant  and  beautiful  than 
the  life  and  gladness  that  sparkled  in  their  eyes.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, that  careless  joy  fled  from  the  face  of  Violet  North.  She 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Drummond ;  their  eyes  met,  and  a 
sense  of  fear  came  over  her.  She  longed  to  go  up  to  him — that 
was  her  first  impulse  —  and  say  "Oh,  my  kind  friend,  you  are 
troubled,  and  I  am  the  cause  of  your  trouble."  But  she  dared 
not  do  that ;  she  rather  kept  away  from  him,  telling  herself  that 
the  interview  between,  her  best  of  friends  and  his  sister  had  oc- 
curred, and  fearing  to  speculate  on  the  result  of  it. 

After  breakfast,  as  had  been  arranged  the  previous  day,  they 
went  ashore  in  the  gig,  walked  up  to  the  inn,  and  found  awaiting 
them  there  a  wagonette,  which  was  to  drive  them  across  the  isl- 
and. It  was  a  bright  and  beautiful  day.  They  got  into  the  ve- 
hicle ;  and  away  went  the  two  horses  inland — past  the  foot  of  the 
great  slopes  of  Ben-na-Cailleach,  and  through  stretches  of  moor- 
land, until  they  beheld  on  their  right  the  massive  shoulder  and 
sharp  peaks  of  Blaven's  range  of  granite,  with  the  black  points 
of  the  Cuchullins  beyond.  It  ought  to  have  been  a  pleasant  ex- 
cursion ;  but  it  was  a  somewhat  silent  one — Mrs.  Warrener  doing 
most  of  the  talking,  and  showing  herself  more  affectionate  than 
ever  toward  Violet.  Mr.  Drummond  was  obviously  thinking,  and 
probably  of  an  insoluble  problem.  Was  it  not  true,  he  had  to 
admit,  that  he  knew  nothing  of  girl-nature  ?  Might  there  not  be 
contradictions,  opinions,  emotions,  and  so  forth,  altogether  differ- 
ent from  those  of  the  women  he  had  known  with  any  degree  of 
intimacy  ?  "  You  don't  know  what  a  girl  is,"  his  sister  had  said 
to  him ;  and  she  ought  to  know. 

Once  upon  a  time,  when  Violet  North  and  George  Miller  were 
conversing  together,  the  latter  referred  to  some  little  social  sole- 
cism that  Mr.  Drummond  had  committed,  and  remarked  that  he 
was  old  enough  to  know  better. 

"  Do  you  know  how  old  he  is  ?"  retorted  Violet,  sharply. 


262  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said,  speaking  very  distinctly. 
"  He  was  born  seven-and-thirty  years  ago.  In  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  human  nature  he  is  fifty ;  but  in  knowledge  of  the 
world  of  Hyde  Park  he  is  only  twenty." 

The  epigram  was  clumsily  put,  but  its  meaning  was  clear.  Of 
course  it  provoked  a  quarrel ;  though  Heaven  only  knows  why 
George  Miller  should  have  considered  himself  insulted  when  Hyde 
Park  was  treated  with  contempt. 

At  last  the  wagonette  brought  them  in  sight  of  the  open  At- 
lantic— a  silver  plain  shimmering  in  heat — and  they  went  down 
the  shingly  shore  to  a  huge  and  heavy  boat  manned  by  four 
Highlanders,  unkempt,  ill-clad,  stalwart-looking  fellows,  who  con- 
tentedly set  out  on  a  pull  of  forty  miles  or  so,  with  the  most  un- 
wieldy oars  ever  seen  by  mortals.  Two  of  the  men  were  tall 
and  singularly  handsome,  their  features  fine  and  delicate  in  out- 
line, and  full  of  power :  they  spoke  what  little  English  they  knew 
with  a  curiously  modulated  intonation ;  and  they  were  very  fond 
of  singing  songs  in  chorus — a  chorus  that  consisted  of  shrill  dis-~ 
cordant  notes  in  all  manner  of  keys.  The  singing  was  a  failure. 
Mr.  Drummond  began  to  question  them  as  to  the  meaning  of  the 
songs.  As  usual,  they  were  ignorant  of  the  acquired  faculty  of 
translation.  They  could  give  nothing  like  the  equivalent  of  the 
Gaelic  words:  "Ay,  it  wass  the  young  lass,  and  she  went  away," 
summed  up  their  impression  of  one  song.  The  next  one,  that 
seemed  to  consist  of  fifty  verses:  "Ay,  he  wass  a  souldier — and 
the  young  lass  would  be  for  waiting  for  him.  Ay,  it  iss  a  verra 
fine  song,  that  iss ;  there  iss  few  of  the  songs  better  ass  that 
song ;  and  the  music  of  it  iss  verra  fine  whatever."  And  again : 
"  Ay,  that  iss  a  peautif  ul  song,  and  it  wass  made  by  a  lady  that  lived 
near  Kyle  Rea.  And  that  song  iss  all  apout— well,  it  iss  apout  a 
young  lass — ay — and  that  young  lass — she  wass  trooned — " 

And  then  they  got  out  and  round  the  long  promontory,  and 
found  before  them  the  silent  Loch  Scavaig — not  dark  and  awful 
in  its  accustomed  shadows,  but  fair  and  beautiful  and  sad.  The 
desolation  of  this  picture,  even  with  the  sunlight  shining  on  the 
blue  sea  around  them,  was  extreme ;  for  far  over  this  glowing 
waste  of  water  rose  the  shadowy  bulk  of  the  Cuchullins,  in  still 
and  sorrowful  majesty.  There  was  not  a  voice  to  be  heard — not 
even  the  screaming  of  a  sea-bird,  as  they  rowed  into  the  head 


LOCH    CORUISK.  263 

of  this  treacherous  loch,  now  shining  fair  and  calm  in  the  mid- 
day sun. 

They  scrambled  on  shore,  too,  and  made  their  way  over  the 
rough  rocks  and  grass  to  the  small  fresh-water  Loch  Coruisk — 
lying  still  and  sombre  in  the  cup  of  the  mighty  hills  surrounding 
it.  On  the  right,  these  hills  were  in  the  sunshine,  sending  their 
riven,  bare,  jagged  peaks  into  the  far  blue  of  the  sky;  on  the 
left  they  were  hidden  in  shadow,  mysterious  and  profound,  even 
in  the  midst  of  this  summer's  day.  The  women  went  away 
down  to  the  shores  of  the  black  and  sullen  lake ;  James  Drum- 
mond  sat  by  himself  on  one  of  the  rocks,  and  he  seemed  to  see 
things  as  in  a  dream. 

He  was  alone  in  this  awful  solitude  —  no  sight  or  sound  of 
human  beings  near ;  and  as  he  gazed  up  at  the  terrible  peaks, 
rising  sheer  from  the  gloomy  water,  he  grew  to  think  that  they 
were  great  dumb  creatures,  living  but  immovable,  the  giants  of 
eternity,  abiding  forever  in  solitary  self-communion.  "They 
have  eyes,"  he  was  thinking,  "  away  up  in  those  mystic  shadows, 
and  they  close  but  once  in  a  thousand  years.  When  the  wild 
Atlantic  frets  around  the  shores,  they  frown  ;  otherwise  they  are 
cold  and  impassible ;  they  gaze  at  each  other,  without  curiosity, 
without  intelligence,  only  with  an  awful  sadness  that  increases  as 
the  centuries  slip  by,  bringing  no  change.  They  have  seen  no 
human  beings  ;  if  some  small  crcatui'es  have  crept  across  the  neck 
of  land  at  their  base,  and  disappeared  again  out  at  sea,  they  have 
paid  no  heed.  Can  they  speak  to  each  other  ?  No.  They  listen 
to  the  murmur  of  the  Atlantic,  but  they  make  no  sound  in  their 
everlasting  repose.  When  the  clouds  are  whirled  against  them 
in  the  night,  and  the  wild  lightning  crackles  through  the  dark, 
and  the  sea  yells  around  their  feet,  the  awful  frown  deepens,  and 
it  seems  as  though  they  would  arise  from  their  eternal  lethargy 
and  command  the  elements  to  be  at  peace ;  but  no — they  pass 
that  by,  too,  as  the  strife  of  a  moment ;  the  slow  centuries  alone 
affect  them,  adding  to  the  trouble  of  the  saddened  eyes ;  they 
have  no  companionship,  not  even  in  the  night-time  with  the 
mystic  and  gleaming  stars." 

"Anthropomorphism,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  rose  and  seemed 
to  try  to  shake  away  certain  thoughts.  "  The  projection  of  tho 
shadow — the  exceeding  humility  of  the  human  being  in  transfer- 
ring his  own  sadness  to  the  Cuchullin  hills  or  the  midnight  sky  !" 


264  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him — was  he  really  sad  ?  Could 
it  be  possible  that,  amidst  all  the  happiness  that  had  surrounded 
him  and  his  companions  in  these  beautiful  solitudes,  a  few  chance 
remarks,  suggesting  what  he  must  regard  as  at  least  an  improb- 
ability, should  have  such  an  effect?  He  would  shake  off  this 
morbid  feeling.  There  might  be  certain  girl-natures  outside  the 
sphere  of  his  sister's  experience.  And  if  the  worst  came  to  the 
worst,  would  he  be  sad  to  see  Violet — at  whatever  cost  to  himself 
— rescued  from  a  false  position,  and  made  happy  as  a  young  girl 
should  be  happy  ? 

He  would  not  be  conquered  by  the  prevailing  gloom  of  this 
silent  and  mysterious  loch.  He  made  his  way  down  the  rocks 
to  the  little  sandy  bay  where  -his  companions  were  seated,  and 
entered  into  a  competition  with  his  niece  in  the  matter  of  throw- 
ing "ducks  and  drakes."  He  was  quite  merry  over  their  lunch- 
eon on  the  rocks.  When  he  got  into  the  boat  again,  he  relieved 
one  of  the  men — who  had  recently  met  with  an  accident — of  his 
oar,  and  labored  away  with  that  unwieldy  instrument  for  over 
half  an  hour.  It  was  about  eight  o'clock  at  night  when  they  got 
back  to  Broadford. 

The  weather  is  abrupt  in  its  changes  in  these  parts.  Captain 
Jimmy,  who  had  always  professed  a  profound  dislike  to  Broad- 
ford  Bay,  as  a  particularly  open  roadstead  in  the  case  of  a  north- 
erly gale  blowing,  said  that  the  wind  had  backed  a  bit  from  the 
south-east  to  east,  and  promised  to  get  still  farther  to  the  north. 
Would  they  like  to  go  on  that  night  to  Portree  ? 

"  Is  there  any  need — any  danger  in  lying  here  ?" 

"  Naw,  sir,"  replied  the  skipper,  "  there  iss  no  any  great  need. 
But  the  wind  iss  good  to  go  up." 

"  You  see,  you  will  keep  those  ladies  awake  all  night — " 

"  You  need  not  consider  us,  James,"  his  sister  said ;  and  then 
she  added,  "  You  know  Violet  wrould  much  rather  go  on." 

He  turned  round ;  Violet  was  not  on  deck.  He  wrent  to  the 
campanion-ladder  and  called  down, 

"  Violet,  are  you  there  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  We  want  to  know  whether  you  would  prefer  to  remain  here 
for  the  night,  or  go  on  to  Portree.     The  wind  is  favorable." 

She  came  to  the  door  of  the  saloon,  and  answered  him,  in  a 
lower  voice,  and  with  her  eyes  cast  down, 


UNDER    THE    BLACK    CUCHULLINS.  265 

"  If  it  is  no  inconvenience  to  any  one,  I  would  rather  go  on  to 
Portree  at  once." 

He  went  along  to  his  sister,  and  said  that  Violet  did  wish  to 
go  on  to  Portree  that  night. 

"  I  thought  she  would,"  Mrs.  Warrener  answered,  gently. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

UNDER   THE    BLACK    CUCHULLINS. 


In  the  deep  silence  of  the  night  the  loud  and  harsh  hauling-up 
of  the  anchor  sounded  ominously ;  the  breeze  was  rising ;  the 
moon,  obscured  from  time  to  time  by  swift  and  watery  clouds, 
threw  a  wan  and  ghastly  light  on  the  sails  and  the  deck,  and 
struck  a  golden  star  on  the  gleaming  brass  of  the  compass. 
"When  they  got  outside  the  bay,  they  found  there  was  a  good  sea 
on;  the  waves  were  rushing  along  before  the  stiff  south-easterly 
wind  ;  there  was  a  murmur  of  breakers  coming  over  from  the  dis- 
tant and  gloomy  rocks  of  Pabba.  No  one  thought  of  going  be- 
low ;  there  was  a  weird  excitement  in  thus  hurrying  on  through 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  with  the  adjacent  coasts  grown  mys- 
tical and  strange  under  the  frail  moonlight.  They  listened  in  si- 
lence to  the  plunging  and  churning  of  the  waves  that  went  hiss- 
ing away  behind  the  boat ;  they  tried  to  make  out  the  outlines 
of  the  sombre  shores  they  were  passing ;  they  watched  a  strange 
mist  of  moonlight  gathering  round  the  black  peaks  of  the  Cu- 
chullins.  The  men  were  obviously  on  the  alert.  Once  or  twice 
one  of  them  was  seen  to  go  up  the  rigging  to  the  cross-trees  to 
have  a  lookout  for  some  island  or  perch  invisible  from  the  deck. 
The  skipper  did  not  care  to  have  the  tack  of  the  mainsail  let 
down  ;  they  were  certainly  making  sufficient  way.  And  so  they 
went  swinging  on  through  the  night,  under  the  shadows  of  the 
black  mountains  of  Skyc — the  boom  straining  and  creaking,  the 
broad  sail  Hat  before  the  wind,  the  red  and  green  side-lights  ris- 
ing and  dipping  as  the  bow  rose  and  dipped  with  the  hurrying 
waves.     At  this  rate  they  would  soon  get  on  to  Portree. 

It  was  not  like  that  wonderful  and  magical  night  when  they 
lay  becalmed  in  the  Sound  of  Sleat,  and  saw  the  yellow  moon  go 

12 


266  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

down  behind  the  sea  like  a  great  ship  on  fire.  Then  all  was 
laughter,  music,  and  joyous  idleness,  on  the  placid  waters,  under 
the  beautiful  stars.  Now  the  black  coast  of  Skye  overawed  them ; 
the  moon  that  was  near  to  the  summits  of  the  Cuchullins  was 
watery  and  ominous ;  they  were  rushing  along  before  a  breeze 
that  threatened  to  become  half  a  gale,  and  there  was  certainly  no 
room  for  carelessness  or  idleness  when  they  got  into  the  narrows 
of  the  sombre  Sound  of  Raasay.  It  was  not  like  the  time  that  had 
been — the  time  that  was  even  now  beginning  to  seem  remote. 

They  got  into  Portree  shortly  after  one  in  the  morning :  they 
could  just  make  out  the  cottages  of  the  sleeping  town,  and  the 
rocks  and  trees  adjacent,  in  the  pale  and  uncertain  moonlight. 
The  noise  on  board  did  not  long  disturb  the  stillness  of  the  place ; 
by-and-by  the  Sea-Pyot  was  also  given  over  to  sleep. 

Mr.  Drummond  was  early  up  next  morning ;  he  seemed  a  trifle 
preoccupied  and  restless.  His  sister  was  the  next  to  come  on 
deck. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  morning  it  is  !"  she  exclaimed.  There 
was  a  curious  watery  fog  lying  about  the  shore  that  made  ob- 
jects look  at  once  large,  shadoAvy,  and  remote. 

He  took  no  heed  of  the  remark. 

■  ■  Sarah,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  have  you  said  any  thing  to  Violet 
yet?" 

"  Not  a  word,"  the  gentle  little  woman  answered.  "  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  with  her  alone.  But  if  I  had,  I 
doubt  whether  I  ought  to  say  any  thing.  I  do  not  wish  to  influ- 
ence the  poor  girl  in  any  way.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  she 
must  be  free  to  follow  the  suggestions  of  her  own  heart." 

"  But  she  Avill  think  it  strange ;  she  will  imagine  you  disap- 
prove :  I  told  her  I  should  tell  you.  And  I  must  speak  to  her, 
too,  about  it.     But  what  can  I  say  ?" 

He  took  a  step  up  and  down  the  deck :  he  was  obviously  en- 
deavoring to  repress  many  and  very  varying  emotions. 

"It  is  very  terrible,  Sarah  —  all  this  uncertainty,  this  doubt. 
In  any  other  case,  I  would  not  bear  it  for  a  moment.  But,  as 
you  say,  we  must  not  drive  the  girl  into  a  corner.  We  must 
leave  her  free.  And  perhaps  now  —  if  there  should  be  a  letter 
from  Miller — she  may  decide  something — " 

He  called  one  of  the  men  to  him,  and  wrote  certain  words  on 
a  card. 


UNDER    THE    BLACK    CUCHULLINS.  207 

"Alec,  lad,  I  want  you  to  go  ashore  and  see  if  there  are  any 
letters  for  us  at  the  post-office.     Get  back  as  soon  as  you  can." 

Mrs.  Warrener  went  below  to  see  the  breakfast-table  laid.  She 
was  almost  as  anxious  about  this  affair  as  her  brother  could  be. 
In  her  secret  heart  she  hoped  that  there  would  be  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Miller  which  would  remove  all  misunderstandings  between 
himself  and  Violet ;  that  the  girl  would  then  see  how  she  had 
blundered,  and  make  such  quick  reparation  as  was  possible ;  and 
that,  after  a  natural  pang  or  two,  they  would  all  return  to  their 
old  relations,  and  those  two,  who  were  very  dear  to  her,  be  saved 
from  the  consequences  of  a  terrible  mistake. 

Alec  came  out  again ;  there  were  three  or  four  letters,  one  of 
them  addressed  to  "  Miss  Violet  North,  on  board  the  yacht  Sea- 
Pyot,  care  of  the  Postmaster,  Portree,  Island  of  Skye."  Mr. 
Drummond  knew  the  handwriting :  he  calmly  placed  the  letter 
on  the  table,  at  the  corner  where  Violet  usually  sat. 

They  were  all  ready  for  breakfast  when  Violet  appeared.  She 
went  to  her  accustomed  place,  took  up  the  letter,  glanced  at  the 
outside,  and  quickly  put  it  in  her  pocket.  When  she  sat  down, 
Mrs.  Warrener  noticed  that  she  was  rather  pale. 

The  girl  could  not  conceal  her  emotion.  Her  fingers  trembled 
as  she  took  the  cup  and  saucer  offered  to  her.  Some  feeble  ef- 
fort of  conversation  was  being  made :  she  did  not  seem  to  over- 
hear. 

At  last  she  could  restrain  her  anxiety  no  longer ;  she  murmur- 
ed something  about  being  excused ;  took  out  the  letter,  and  hur- 
riedly glanced  over  its  contents.  It  was  not  a  long  one,  apparent- 
ly ;  for  she  suddenly  rose,  and  burst  into  tears  as  she  left  the  sa- 
loon.    A  strange  silence  ensued. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Mrs.  Warrener  followed. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter,  uncle  ?"  said  Amy  Warrener,  inno- 
cently. 

"  Some  bad  news,  I  fear,"  said  he ;  and  she  was  surprised  that 
he  could  speak  of  Violet's  receiving  bad  news  in  so  firm  and  un- 
concerned a  voice. 

Then  his  sister  came  back. 

"James,  will  you  ask  one  of  the  men  to  row  Violet  ashore? 
She  wants  to  send  off  a  telegram." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he  ;  and  he  went  on  deck. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  he  was  watching  a  small  boat,  con- 


268  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

tabling  two  figures,  that  was  making  for  the  quay.  When,  at 
last,  it  had  disappeared  altogether  into  that  haze  of  sunlit  mist 
that  lay  along  the  shore,  he  turned  to  another  of  the  men  and 
said, 

"  I  should  like  to  have  the  gig  lowered.  Can  you  and  Alec 
pull  me  up  to  the  head  of  the  loch  where  those  wild  ducks  are  ?" 

His  sister  came  to  him. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  James  ?     You  have  had  no  breakfast." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  he  said,  gently,  and  his  face  looked  a  trifle 
careworn  and  tired — that  was  all.  "  I  have  had  enough.  They 
say  there  are  plenty  of  wild  ducks  up  here." 

"  Oh,  James — "  she  was  beginning  to  say ;  but  tears  swelled 
up  in  her  eyes,  and  she  could  not  speak.  She  saw  him  fetch  his 
gun,  get  into  the  gig,  and  take  the  tiller  -  ropes.  She  knew  that 
the  sorest  heart  in  England  that  day  was  in  that  boat. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CROSS-CUKRKNTS. 


The  mischief  now  wrought  by  this  tender-hearted  little  wom- 
an, in  all  innocence,  and  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world, 
could  not  have  been  done  half  so  thoroughly  by  the  most  artful 
and  ingenious  plotter  that  ever  appeared  in  a  melodrama.  The 
reason  was  simple.  She  had  a  clear,  convincing,  unwavering  be- 
lief in  her  own  reading  of  the  relations  existing  between  her 
brother  and  Violet,  and  between  Violet  and  George  Miller;  and 
while  this  belief  was  likely  to  impress  in  some  measure  the  peo- 
ple around  her — mental  magnetism  being  a  far  more  sure  thing 
than  animal  magnetism — it  was  a  complete  safeguard  against  her 
making  any  mistake  in  the  role  she  was  unconsciously  playing. 
She  had  no  secret  plot  to  work  at.  Her  intense,  unselfish  regard 
for  the  happiness  of  those  two  near  her  was  too  obvious  to  be 
questioned. 

Then  look  at  the  position  in  which  she  stood  for  the  effectual 
carrying -out  of  this  unintentional  mischief.  Any  other  person 
coming  to  James  Drummond  with  the  same  story  would  certainly 
have  been  met  with  distrust,  and  might  probably  have  been  met 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  2G9 

with  ridicule  ;  but  she  was  Violet's  most  intimate  friend,  the  con- 
fidante of  the  girl  for  years  back.  Then  she  was  a  woman,  versed 
in  the  mysteries  of  the  feminine  heart ;  and  it  was  with  the  most 
open  sincerity  that  she  had  assured  him  he  knew  nothing  of  girl- 
nature.  When  she  appealed  to  him,  for  Violet's  sake,  to  give 
the  girl  free  opportunity  to  get  out  of  the  terrible  position  in 
which  a  blander  had  placed  her,  what  could  he  answer?  If  her 
heart  were  really  beginning  to  look  longingly  back  toward  the 
young  man  who  had  left  her  in  a  fit  of  anger,  surely  it  was  better 
she  should  declare  the  truth,  and  go.  But  he  had  too  noble  a 
regard  for  the  girl  to  challenge  her,  to  drive  her  into  a  corner, 
and  claim  from  her  a  denial  of  these  lingering  regrets,  as  a  more 
hasty  or  a  more  selfish  man  would  have  done.  She  should  have 
her  free  choice. 

Now  we  come  to  Violet  herself ;  and  here  Mrs.  Warrener's  mis- 
chievous work  was  far  more  easy.  She  had  only  induced  her 
brother  to  remain  aloof  —  to  give  Violet  time  —  to  watch  and 
judge  for  himself;  while  she  had  been  successful  in  bringing 
back  the  old,  sad  look  to  his  eyes.  But  with  Violet  the  case  was 
different.  The  girl  was  proud,  high-spirited,  impetuous;  while 
love  in  any  case  is  quick  to  imagine  and  magnify  danger.  When 
Violet  came  on  board  again,  after  having  sent  off  her  telegram, 
Mrs.  Warrener  was  on  deck  awaiting  her.  She  took  the  girl's 
hand  in  hers  and  drew  her  a  bit  aside,  so  that  she  should  not  be 
overheard ;  then  she  said,  in  a  very  gentle  and  kindly  voice, 

"  You  are  troubled  about  something,  Violet.  Can  I  help  you? 
If  you  do  not  wish  to  tell  me  what  it  is,  I  shall  not  be  offended 
with  you ;  but  you  know  I  might  be  able  to  help  you ;  and  you 
know  how  anxious  we  all  are  to  see  you  cheerful,  and  well,  and 
happy." 

The  girl  was  looking  down,  her  face  burning ;  she  was  not  like 
the  bright,  audacious  Violet  of  old. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  be  cheerful  and  happy,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  have  acted  badly  —  I  have  given  great  pain  to  oth- 
ers—" 

"  But  all  that  may  be  mended,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  eagerly  ; 
for  was  not  every  word  uttered  by  the  girl  further  confirmation 
of  her,  Mrs.  Warrener's,  belief  ?  "  Indeed,  no  great  harm  has 
been  done,  Violet — it  will  be  made  all  right  again,  dear.  May  I 
guess  that  that  telegram  was  sent  to  Mr.  Miller  ?     Yes  ?     Then 


270  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

you  will  be  friends  again,  and  your  old  relations  will  be  establish- 
ed again — " 

"  Oh  no,"  the  girl  said,  "  that  is  impossible — that  is  quite  im- 
possible.    But  I  am  so  sorry — " 

"  Violet,"  said  her  friend,  with  a  smile,  for  she  saw  her  way 
clear  to  making  every  body  happy,  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  a 
secret.  My  brother  spoke  to  me  yesterday  about  what  had  hap- 
pened between  you  and  him  —  do  you  look  afraid,  Violet,  and 
afraid  of  me  ?  If  it  were  only  possible — if  I  could  only  have  you 
for  my  sister — do  you  think  I  would  not  welcome  you  with  open 
arms  ?  You  are  one  of  our  family  already,  Violet ;  if  this  other 
relation  had  been  possible,  I  should  have  been  more  delighted 
than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  bewildered  way  :  she  did  not  quite 
understand. 

"  But  now  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  you  out  of  your  trouble,  Vi- 
olet," said  the  good-natured  little  woman,  with  increasing  confi- 
dence, "  that  I  must  speak  frankly  to  you.  You  must  not  imag- 
ine that  you  are  bound  to  my  brother.  If  it  would  secure  your 
happiness,  I  know  he  would  never  in  this  world  say  another  word 
about  what  lias  happened ;  and  you  must  not  imagine,  either, 
that  you  would  be  doing  him  so  great  an  injury ;  for,  after  all,  the 
affection  he  has  for  you  is  what  he  always  had  for  you — even 
when  he  was  glad  to  see  you  were  about  to  marry  Mr.  Miller ; 
and  if  you  were  again  about  to  marry  Mr.  Miller,  he  would  be 
quite  as  pleased  and  glad  too  that  both  he  and  you  were  not  the 
victims  of  a  mistake.  You  know,  Violet,  the  kind  of  affection 
with  which  a  man  of  his  years  regards  a  young  girl.  It  is  very 
unselfish.  If  he  thought  you  stood  in  need  of  some  one  to  aid 
and  guide  you,  he  would  be  prepared  to  marry  you,  when  that 
was  suggested  to  him  ;  and  if  he  thought  it  better  for  you  to 
marry  some  one  with  an  older  claim  on  you,  he  would  give  you 
up  frankly,  and  still  regard  you  with  the  same  affection.  Do  you 
see  all  that,  Violet  ?" 

Was  all  this  terrible  thing  true  ?  Was  it  true  that  he  only  re- 
garded her  with  that  friendly  affection  of  which  his  sister  spoke  ? 
Then  she  remembered,  with  a  great  shame  and  dread,  the  circum- 
stances that  had  led  to  this  engagement.  Mr.  Drummond  had 
almost  been  challenged  to  return  her  affection.  A  confession  of 
her  love  for  him  had  been  carried  to  him  ;  her  good,  kind  friend 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  271 

had  responded ;  and  now  his  own  sister  was  talking  of  this  re- 
sponse as  a  mistake,  from  the  effects  of  which  all  the  persons  con- 
cerned were  to  be  rescued. 

Violet  North  had  not  James  Drummond's  patient  strength  and 
reticence  of  character ;  she  was  quick,  proud-spirited,  prone  to  act 
on  the  first  impulse.  Her  girlish  sense  of  dignity  was  touched : 
she  would  not  have  it  said  that  any  man  had,  through  compassion 
for  her  friendless  position,  been  led  into  exaggerating  his  regard 
for  her  and  offering  her  marriage.  On  the  other  hand,  her  deep 
affection  for  him  was  quite  as  powerful  with  her  as  her  quick 
sense  of  honor:  would  she  have  the  man  she  loved  drawn  into  an 
engagement  that  he  might  regret  all  the  years  of  his  life  ? 

These  fancies,  fears,  and  resolves  darted  through  her  mind,  as 
she  stood  there  for  a  second  or  two,  quite  silent. 

"  He  has  asked  you  to  tell  me  all  this  ?"  she  said,  nerving  her- 
self to  speak  calmly. 

"  Oh  no !"  Mrs.  Warrener  exclaimed,  with  honest  eagerness  ; 
"not  a  word  of  it  —  not  a  single  word  of  it.  You  know  how 
kind,  how  utterly  regardless  of  himself,  my  brother  is.  So  long 
as  he  imagines  that  you  might  consider  a  marriage  between  you 
and  him  as  likely  to  promote  your  happiness,  all  the  tortures  in 
the  world  would  not  get  him  to  say  any  thing  against  it.  If 
you  went  to  him  just  now,  he  would  declare  that  he  was  rejoiced 
at  the  prospect — " 

"  Would  that  be  fair  ?  would  that  be  honest  ?"  the  girl  said,  in- 
dignantly, and  not  without  some  sudden  and  sad  look  back  to 
certain  words  which  she  had  believed  all  too  fully  when  she  heard 
them. 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  put  in  a  little  exaggeration,  when  one  is  anx- 
ious for  another  person's  happiness,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"And  if  I  go  to  him  now  and  speak  to  him  about  this  matter, 
he  will  continue  to  deceive  me — for  my  good  ?"  asked  the  girl, 
somewhat  proudly. 

"  You  must  not  call  it  deception,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  gently. 
"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  look  at  the  motive  for  it,  and  call  it  kind- 
ness." 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  Violet  said,  standing  erect.  "  Break 
off  the  engagement  at  once,  and  get  back  to  London  ?  The  steam- 
er comes  in  here  to-morrow.     My  father  is  in  London  at  present." 


2*72  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Her  friend  regarded  her  curiously.  Was  she  acting?  Or  was 
she  really  vexed  and  disappointed — with  the  mild  disappointment 
of  a  girl  who,  having  fancied  she  had  two  lovers,  finds  she  has 
only  one  ? 

"  No,  no,  Violet,  you  must  not  do  any  thing  rash,"  she  said, 
quietly.  "  If  I  have  shown  you  how  matters  are  likely  to  come 
all  right  in  the  end,  it  was  not  with  the  wish  of  advising  you  to 
do  any  thing  at  once.  You  can  afford  to  wait — indeed,  I  suppose 
you  must  wait  now,  unless  you  think  there  is  the  least  chance  of 
Mr.  Miller  altering  his  mind  and  coming  hack  to  the  Highlands  ?" 

The  suggestion  was  thrown  out  at  random ;  and  yet  Mrs.  War- 
rener  would  not  have  been  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was  coming 
back. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Miller's  intentions  are,"  said  Violet, 
with  some  haughtiness ;  "  but  if  he  comes  back  here,  I  must  leave." 

Mrs.  Warrener  did  not  like  to  smile ;  and  yet  the  girl  was  so 
charmingly  simple.  Clearly,  she  had  not  quite  forgiven  him  just 
yet ;  she  was  inclined  to  stand  on  her  dignity ;  her  compunction 
of  the  morning,  awakened  by  reading  his  letter,  was  only  now  dis- 
appearing. 

"  Well,  Violet,  let  us  say  no  more  about  this  at  present.  Come 
down  below  and  have  some  breakfast." 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  care  about  any  just  now." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  laugh,  "  we  are  having  a 
pretty  lot  of  trouble  over  nothing.  But  I  can  not  allow  you  all 
to  act  like  spoiled  children.  Here  is  James,  too,  gone  off  without 
taking  any  breakfast.  Now,  if  you  won't  have  any,  what  I  pro- 
pose is  this :  let  us  at  once  put  luncheon  for  the  whole  party  in 
the  dinghy,  and  Ave  can  all  go  away  up  the  loch  in  search  of  him. 
Will  that  do  ?" 

Violet  considered  that  Mr.  Drummond  must  have  been  eager  to 
get  to  the  wild  duck  when  he  left  without  his  breakfast ;  but  she 
willingly  consented  to  aid  in  the  provisioning  of  the  dinghy,  and  in 
due  course  of  time  that  handy  little  boat  started  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery.  It  ought  to  have  been  a  pleasant  excursion.  Though 
a  curious  sort  of  watery  vapor  hung  round  certain  portions  of  the 
shore,  out  here  the  sun  had  drunk  up  the  fog,  and  the  blue  sea 
sparkled  in  the  light.  Behind  that  veil  of  mist  too,  they  could 
see  something  of  the  white  houses  of  Portree,  and  the  outjutting 
rocks  covered  with  trees  and  bushes.     There  was  a  pleasant  scent 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  273 

of  sea-weed  in  the  morning  air ;  and  all  around  them  there  was  a 
delicious,  dreamy  silence  and  quiet. 

But  when,  after  a  good  long  pull,  they  got  up  toward  the  head 
of  the  loch,  things  were  rapidly  changed.  A  sort  of  gray,  trans- 
parent darkness  seemed  to  fall  around  them.  They  had  an  im- 
pression that  the  sun  was  still  shining,  but  they  could  not  quite 
tell  where  he  was,  and  there  was  no  light  on  the  still  water.  They 
could  see  objects  at  a  considerable  distance,  but  these  objects  were 
vague  and  confused. 

A  large  bird  went  whirring  by,  some  twenty  yards  from  the 
boat.     The  women  were  startled  by  the  noise  it  made. 

"  It  iss  a  skart,  and  a  big  skart  too,"  said  one  of  the  two  sail- 
ors. 

Some  half  a  dozen  birds,  smaller,  apparently,  and  yet  of  consid- 
erable size,  went  whizzing  past  overhead. 

"  That  was  only  pyots,"  said  the  man ;  but,  all  the  same,  he 
seemed  to  imagine  that  Mr.  Drummond  had  missed  a  chance. 

There  were  indeed  plenty  pf  birds  about ;  the  fact  being  that  at 
this  moment  Mr.  Drummond,  having  explored  a  distant  creek  of 
the  loch,  was  now  coming  over  to  where  the  dinghy  was,  and  these 
birds  he  had  driven  on  before  him.  Away  in  the  distance  they 
heard  the  faint  crack  of  a  shot ;  by-and-by  they  descried  the  gig 
coming  slowly  through  the  strange,  transparent  mist.  At  the 
same  moment  they  discovered  that  they  were  aground. 

But  what  was  this  approaching  them  ?  —  a  tall  strange  figure 
that  seemed  to  take  diverse  shapes  as  the  luminous  fog  floated 
this  way  and  that.  Although  they  were  aground  on  the  sand, 
they  could  see  nothing  but  water  as  far  as  their  sight  could  reach ; 
and  this  tall  figure  was  coming  to  them  through  the  water.  Their 
eyes  were  blinded  with  the  humid  mist ;  they  could  not  see  dis- 
tinctly ;  but  at  one  moment  they  caught  sight  of  a  pink  flash  of 
flame,  and  afterward  there  was  a  loud  report  that  was  echoed  by 
all  the  hills  around.  Then  the  fog  around  them  seemed  to  be 
filled  with  birds,  screaming  and  calling,  and  flying  so  near  to  the 
dinghy  that  it  was  apparent  they,  too,  were  bewildered.  More 
pink  flashes ;  more  loud  crashes  of  noise ;  that  mystic  figure  go- 
ing here  and  there  with  a  sound  of  splashing  water  wherever  he 
went.  Then,  by-and-by,  he  came  nearer ;  and  they  perceived  that 
he  was  slowly  wading  through  the  sea,  and  carrying  in  his  hand  a 
number  of  birds. 

12* 


274  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  James !"  his  sister  cried,  "  have  you  been  in  the  water  all 
this  time?" 

"And  not  for  nothing,"  he  said,  holding  up  five  curlew,  which 
he  deposited  in  the  bow  of  the  dinghy.  "  The  birds  are  confused 
by  the  fog ;  I  could  have  shot  twenty  dozen  of  sca-pyots." 

"  You  have  not  even  your  shooting-boots  and  gaiters  on,"  his 
anxious  sister  said. 

"  I  began  by  taking  off  my  shoes  and  socks  altogether,"  he  an- 
swered; "but  these  flats  of  sand  are  filled  with  small  flounders, 
and  it  is  a  most  horrid  sensation  to  find  them  shooting  away  from 
beneath  your  feet.  I  had  to  put  on  my  shoes  again.  But  what 
has  brought  you  up  here  ?" 

He  was  talking  quite  cheerfully.  Violet,  who  dared  not  look 
at  him,  felt  every  tone  of  his  voice  sink  into  her  heart :  it  was  the 
old  friendly  voice — and  it  spoke  of  nothing  but  friendship. 

The  question  had  been  addressed  to  her,  as  she  happened  to  be 
nearest  him  ;  and  she  started. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  sudden  embarrassment,  "  wre  brought  you 
some  lunch." 

"  Why,  you  are  fast  aground,"  he  said — and  there  was  certainly 
no  embarrassment  in  his  speech  to  her — he  seemed  to  have  recov- 
ered all  his  ordinary  equanimity  and  brightness.  "  And  so  is  the 
gig,  back  there.  If  you  are  going  to  have  luncheon  now,  I  must 
wade  back  to  the  gig,  and  tell  the  men  to  come  along  when  the 
tide  floats  them." 

"Uncle,"  said  a  young  lady  in  the  boat,  looking  over  at  the 
beautiful  clear  water  and  the  fine  sand,  "  would  you  let  me  wade 
over  to  the  gig  ?" 

"  For  shame,  child !"  her  mother  said. 

There  was  another  young  lady  in  the  boat  who,  in  other  circum- 
stances, would  have  dearly  liked  to  have  gone  on  a  wading  expedi- 
tion ;  but  she  was  thinking  of  different  matters  at  the  moment. 

Eventually  it  was  decided  that  there  was  no  need  to  apprise 
the  occupants  of  the  gig,  for  the  fog  was  gradually  clearing,  and 
by-and-by  they  would  be  able  to  make  signs.  The  humble  store 
of  provisions  was  opened.  Mr.  Drummond,  having  wrung  his 
trousers  as  much  as  possible,  got  in  at  the  bow,  and  sat  there,  so 
as  not  to  damage  the  ladies'  dresses.  It  was  a  sufficiently  cheer- 
ful meal.  An  outsider  would  have  imagined  that  these  people 
were  just  as  they  had  been  two  days  before. 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  275 

Was  it  an  excited  fancy  that  made  her  think  she  could  detect 
a  somewhat  forced  tone  in  his  cheerfulness  ?  Was  he  striving  to 
make  it  appear  to  her  that  he  was  quite  happy  and  contented  ? 
Certainly,  he  was  as  vivacious,  rapid,  and  ingenious  in  his  talk 
as  ever — starting  away  from  a  letter  which  he  had  received  that 
morning,  in  which  his  correspondent  spoke  of  his  having  accom- 
panied a  great  man  of  letters — remarkable  alike  for  his  personal 
force  of  character  and  for  the  Northern  ruggedness  and  earnest- 
ness of  his  writings — to  the  British  Museum  to  look  at  the  Elgin 
Marbles.  The  fact  that  this  celebrated  person  could  see  nothing 
interesting  or  impressive  in  these  remains  of  Greek  art  was  to 
this  preacher  —  sitting  on  the  bow  of  the  dinghy,  with  his  wet 
shoes  placed  on  a  thwart,  and  a  plate  supported  on  his  knees — a 
fruitful  text.  They  had  a  lecture  on  the  fundamental  antagonism 
between  the  Northern  mind,  stern,  realistic,  eagerly  seeking  after 
moral  value  and  individual  portraiture,  and  the  soft,  bland  im- 
agination of  the  South,  placing  its  ideal  types  in  an  atmosphere 
of  perpetual  repose.  In  the  intervals  of  this  meal  of  cold  beef 
and  bread  they  heard  the  lecturer  declare  his  own  enthusiastic 
preference  for  the  North — how  the  individual  character  in  a  por- 
trait by  Rembrandt  had  more  fascination  for  him  than  the  blank 
faces  of  a  hundred  Apollos — how  that  the  highest  excellence  of 
art  was  that  which  most  keenly  touched  the  highest  emotions  of 
the  human  being — how  that  the  ballad  of  "  Helen  of  Kirkconnell" 
was  worth  twenty  dozen  of  "  Iliads  " — how  that  the  mystery  of 
the  Northern  imagination  that  made  the  common  objects  of  the 
world  around  us  strange  and  wonderful —  But  at  this  point  the 
lecture  was  broken  off,  for  a  certain  young  lady  handed  her  uncle 
a  tumbler  of  ale  over  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  men.  Resum- 
ing, the  lecturer  declared  that  the  grandeur  of  a  mountain  could 
not  be  understood  unless  there  were  mists  floating  about  it ;  and 
that  he  had  always  had  a  profound  affection  for  the  sailor  of  the 
anecdote-books  who,  coming  on  deck  in  the  English  Channel,  on 
a  voyage  homeward  from  the  Mediterranean,  and  finding  himself 
surrounded  with  driving  sleet,  and  fog,  and  east  winds,  remarked, 
"Ha!  this  is  weather  as  is  weather;  none  o'  your  hanged  blue 
skies !"  Then  he  spoke  of  the  reverence  which  men  in  all  ages 
had  paid  to  the  artist,  who  was  to  them  the  nearest  approach  to 
the  Creator:  he  could  not  make  his  creations  eternal,  but  at  least 
he  could  give  them  some  little  permanence,  and  rescue  from  de- 


276  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

struction  and  forgetfulness  the  passing  glory  of  a  sunset,  the  ten- 
der beauty  of  a  moonlight  night,  or  the  happy  laughter  of  a  girl's 
face — 

"  Is  this  part  of  your  new  book,  uncle  V  said  the  young  lady. 

"  No,"  he  continued,  calmly.  "  My  new  book  will  be  devoted 
to  giving  lessons  in  good  manners  to  impertinent  young  misses 
who  ought  to  be  at  school." 

"And  when  will  it  be  published?" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  anxiously  awaiting  it.  It  will  be 
out  as  soon  as  I  have  started  the  magazine  that  is  to  review  it 
favorably." 

"  Will  you  let  me  write  the  review  ?"  Mrs.  Warrener  asked. 

"  But  this  is  a  great  project,"  he  said,  seriously,  to  his  sister. 
"  I  can  see  a  large  fortune  looming  in  the  distance.  I  calculate 
that  there  are  at  least  forty  thousand  people  in  this  country  con- 
tinually writing  books,  tracts,  and  pamphlets  that  are  so  con- 
foundedly foolish  that  no  review  will  notice  them.  Very  well. 
My  Universal  Review  will  set  to  work  to  praise  every  one  of  these 
books  and  pamphlets;  then  I  shall  have  forty  thousand  people 
declaring  that  the  Universal  Review  is  the  greatest  and  wisest 
journal  in  the  world ;  and  with  a  circulation  of  forty  thousand 
at  sixpence  a  number,  I  have  no  need  to  appeal  to  the  public  at 
large  at  all.     Do  you  see  ?" 

"And  will  you  do  all  the  praising  yourself?"  she  meekly  asked. 

"  Not  a  line  of  it.  I  patent  the  invention,  but  I  don't  drive 
the  engine.  I  shall  get  an  amiable  young  curate ;  and  I  will  put 
it  to  him  that,  as  there  is  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  severity  and 
cruel  wrong-doing  in  reviewing,  he  is  called  upon  to  restore  the 
proper  balance  of  things  by  introducing  a  large  measure  of  charity 
and  benevolence.  He  will  do  a  generous  work ;  and  I  shall  have 
my  forty  thousand  sixpences.  Even  should  my  success  encourage 
rivals — " 

"There  iss  a  skart  out  there,  sir/"  called  out  Alec,  in  a  low, 
eager  voice,  for  the  gig  had  been  by  this  time  paddled  up  to  the 
dinghy. 

"  Where  ?" 

"Out  there,  sir  —  sweemen  in  the  watter,"  was  the  quick  an- 
swer ;  for  the  young  sailor  was  far  more  anxious  to  get  after  the 
birds  than  the  sportsman  of  this  little  party. 

Far  out  among  the  blue  ripples — almost  in  the  middle  of  the 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  277 

bay — they  could  descry  a  black  object  floating  on  the  sea.  Now 
Mrs.  Warrener  bad  for  some  time  back  declared  her  intention  of 
having  one  of  those  huge  black-green  skarts  stuffed  and  put  up 
in  the  hall  of  the  cottage  in  Camberwell  Grove,  and  she  had  re- 
peatedly besought  her  brother  to  shoot  one  for  her.  His  efforts 
had  so  far  been  unsuccessful.  The  skart  is  a  quick  diver,  a  rapid 
flier,  and,  although  his  body  is  big  enough  as  a  target,  his  thick, 
strong  plumage  is  not  easily  pierced  by  ordinary  shot.  Besides, 
Mr.  Drummond  was  generally  too  intent  on  bagging  curlew,  which 
were  good  for  the  yacht's  larder,  to  care  to  startle  the  neighbor- 
hood by  firing  random  shots  at  stray  cormorants. 

On  this  occasion,  they  resolved  to  adopt  a  little  bit  of  strategy. 
The  dinghy  was  sent  round  the  curve  of  the  shore,  to  get  to  sea- 
ward of  the  bird,  so  that  it  was  not  likely  to  rise  when  the  way 
was  blocked;  while  Mr.  Drummond,  getting  into  the  gig,  was 
pulled  away  along  the  other  shore.  By-and-by  the  bird  was  be- 
tween the  two  boats — swimming  about,  and  occasionally  diving, 
but  showing  no  sign  of  fear.  When,  however,  the  gig  was  slowly 
paddled  out  toward  it,  it  became  a  trifle  more  alarmed.  It  was 
evidently  swimming  away  from  them,  and  making  for  the  other 
side  of  the  loch.  But  there  was  the  dinghy ;  and  now  it  became 
a  question  whether  the  big  dark-green  bird,  with  its  long  neck 
and  ungainly  body,  would  boldly  adventure  a  flight  past  either  of 
the  boats,  or  dive. 

Mr.  Drummond  was  up  in  the  bow  of  the  gig,  his  breech-loader 
kept  out  of  sight.  When  they  had  got  to  within  about  sixty 
yards  of  the  skart,  he  stealthily  put  down  his  hand,  but  almost 
at  the  same  moment  the  bird  made  a  plunge  forward  and  disap- 
peared. 

"  Now,  my  lads,  pull  away  !"  he  called  out.  "  He'll  rise  close 
to  us—" 

The  bang  of  the  gun  interrupted  the  speech ;  he  had  fired  a 
snap-shot  at  the  skart,  which  had  come  up  some  forty  yards  off 
on  their  left.  But  the  shot  had  merely  struck  the  water ;  for  the 
bird,  finding  itself  close  to  its  pursuers,  had  immediately  dived 
again. 

They  pulled  quickly  to  the  spot,  and  waited  about,  but  the 
skart  was  evidently  taking  a  good  swim  down  below.  The  dif- 
ficulty of  getting  a  shot  at  him,  moreover,  was  enhanced  by  the 
chances  of  liis  rising  somewhere  in  a  line  with  the  dinghy,  in 


278  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

which  case  it  would  be  impossible  to  fire,  although  the  smaller 
boat  was  a  long  way  off. 

"  There  he  is,  sir  !" 

The  big  black  object  was  visible  for  just  a  moment  some 
twenty  yards  astern ;  and  again  a  charge  of  shot  went  crashing 
down  on  the  water. 

"  You  will  hit  him  that  time,  sir,"  called  out  the  eager  Alec. 
"  Ay,  we  will  hef  him  this  time ;  he  will  no  go  far  now." 

But  when  they  next  saw  this  Jack-in-the-box,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  couple  of  minutes  or  so,  he  was  a  great  distance  away,  and 
the  two  boats  had  to  begin  the  chase  anew.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that,  after  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour's  waiting  about,  and  a 
great  deal  of  snap -firing,  the  skart  was  at  last  stretched  on  the 
water ;  and  when  he  was  dragged  dripping  into  the  boat,  he  was 
found  to  be  an  unusually  large  specimen,  with  especially  fine, 
thick,  glossy  plumage.  The  men  declared  that  they  would  be 
"  ferra  glad  to  hef  the  skart  to  eat,  and  Alec  he  wass  ferry  cleffer 
at  the  skinning,  and  the  skin  it  could  be  stuffed  ferry  well  what- 
ever." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Drummond  to  them.  "I  know  of 
old  what  the  cooking  of  a  skart  does  to  a  yacht;  you  wouldn't 
get  the  smell  out  of  the  forecastle  for  a  week.  You  may  have  a 
couple  of  these  curlew,  if  you  like  ;  but  no  skart,  if  you  please." 

It  is  easily  to  be  understood  that  there  was  no  objection  to 
this  course — Alec  being  of  opinion  that  a  curlew  was  "just  as 
good  as  a  faisant"  —  and  so  in  great  contentment  they  rowed 
back  through  the  beautiful  bright  afternoon  toward  the  yacht. 
Portree  looked  very  picturesque  as  they  approached  it.  Over  its 
shadowed  rocks  and  trees  stretched  a  silver -gray  sky,  mottled 
with  millions  of  small,  faintly  yellow  clouds — a  clear,  bright  ethe- 
real sunset ;  its  white  houses,  its  dark-green  firs  and  bushes  and 
boats,  were  distinctly  seen  in  the  cold  twilight  underneath,  while 
a  pale-blue  smoke  from  the  chimneys  arose  to  the  glowing  sky 
overhead. 

When  Violet  got  on  board,  she  went  down  to  her  little  cabin, 
and  took  out  from  her  pocket  the  letter  which  had  so  deeply 
moved  her  in  the  morning.  She  read  it  again — this  time  with 
less  emotion.  So  far,  indeed,  from  the  letter  making  any  appeal 
to  her  feelings,  it  was  studiously  cold ;  it  was  this  very  coldness 
that  had  startled  and  pained  her — that  had  brought  with  it  an 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  279 

accusation  wbieh  she  could  not  altogether  repel.  She  felt  she 
deserved  to  have  this  former  friend  of  hers  address  her  as  "  Dear 
Miss  North."  She  had  been  thoughtless  in  allowing  him  to 
nourish  illusions  for  so  long  a  time  ;  she  ought  not  to  have  list- 
ened to  his  prayers  for  delay  and  further  consideration ;  she  had 
been  selfishly  forgetful  of  his  pain  and  disappointment  in  the 
enjoyment  of  her  own  newly -found  happiness.  All  this  sud- 
denly occurred  to  her  on  her  first  reading  of  this  letter ;  and  she 
knew  that  she  could  make  no  reparation. 

But  on  one  point  her  pride  was  touched.  The  writer  of  this 
cold,  formal,  business-like  letter  went  on  to  say  that  he  considered 
he  was  bound  to  inform  Sir  Acton  North  of  what  had  occurred 
in  so  far  as  it  affected  him,  Mr.  Miller.  That  is  to  say,  the  young- 
man,  having  had  his  suit  approved  by  Violet's  father,  would  go 
and  inform  him  that  these  relations  were  now  at  an  end.  He 
wished  to  know,  therefore,  whether  Miss  North  would  prefer  his 
confining  his  statement  to  that  one  point,  or  whether  he  was  to 
tell  the  whole  story. 

Violet  could  not  brook  for  a  moment  what  she  regarded  as  a 
sort  of  insinuation.  Thus  it  was  she  had  demanded  to  be  put  on 
shore  immediately ;  and  at  the  post-office  she  had  telegraphed  as 
follows:  "I  am  deeply  sorry  if  you  are  pained.  As  regards  my 
father,  you  may  tell  him  what  you  please." 

And  now,  as  she  still  held  George  Miller's  letter  in  her  hand, 
and  looked  at  it  without  seeing  a  word  in  it,  she  was  asking  her- 
self whether  the  young  man  would  really  tell  her  father  the  whole 
story.  That  morning  she  had  no  reason  to  dread  such  a  revela- 
tion ;  she  had,  indeed,  intended  to  sit  down  and  write  to  her  fa- 
ther a  good  deal  more  than  George  Miller  knew ;  she  had  even 
settled  in  her  own  mind  how  she  would  begin  the  letter — "  My 
dear  papa,  I  am  the  very  proudest  and  happiest  woman  in  the 
whole  world.  At  last  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  one's  admiration 
and  love  go  hand-in-hand — " 

But  since  that  morning  something  strange  had  occurred.  She 
did  not  quite  know  what  it  was;  but  it  had  greatly  changed  the 
world  for  her.  Her  mind  was  filled  with  dim  forebodings,  and 
even  with  a  dull  sense  of  pain,  that  seemed  to  blur  and  confuse 
her  perceptions  of  the  things  around  her. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  and  resolute  effort  of  will,  she  roused  her- 
self.    She  would  go  frankly  and  courageously  to  Mr.  Drummond, 


280  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

and  demand  to  know  the  worst.  If  this  gentlest  and  truest  of 
all  her  friends  was  pained  on  her  account — if  her  presence  there 
caused  him  the  least  embarrassment  in  the  world — if,  to  please 
her,  he  was  acting  a  part  of  forced  cheerfulness  —  she  would 
proudly  and  gladly  set  him  free.  If  it  was  true  that  he  had 
nothing  to  offer  her  but  that  constant  and  tender  affection  he  had 
shown  her  ever  since  he  had  known  her  as  a  school-girl  and  the 
companion  of  his  niece,  she  would  meekly  and  gratefully  accept 
that,  and  let  the  dream  of  her  life  go  with  a  sigh. 

She  could  not  go  to  him.  The  red  blood  tingled  in  her  cheek 
as  she  thought  of  the  manner  in  which  he  might  meet  her  ques- 
tion. Could  a  girl  so  far  demean  herself  as  to  ask  for  love  ;  could 
she  more  especially,  who  knew  the  great  possibilities  of  unselfish- 
ness in  this  man's  nature,  run  the  risk  of  calling  on  him  to  sacrifice 
himself  for  her  happiness — the  happiness  of  a  mere  school-girl  ? 
No,  she  was  too  proud  for  that.  She  would  wait  to  see  whether 
it  was  true  that  they  had  blundered  into  a  false  position ;  if 
that  were  so,  she  would  find  some  means  of  freeing  them  both. 
What  mattered  a  school-girl's  happiness,  she  again  asked  herself  ? 
The  sun  would  rise  all  the  same  over  these  Skye  hills  to-morrow, 
next  year,  fifty  years  hence.  Who  was  to  care  about  her  and  the 
disappointment  of  her  girlish  dreams  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOMEWARD     BOUND. 


When,  on  that  beautiful  morning  at  Isle  Ornsay,  they  first  saw 
the  glowing  wonders  of  Skye  and  the  Sound  of  Sleat,  they  were 
full  of  a  new  enthusiasm,  and  eager  to  go  still  farther  on  in  their 
explorations.  Supposing  that  they  should  get  to  Portree — this 
was  the  subject  of  general  talk  and  speculation — why  should  they 
not  make  a  bold  dash  across  the  Minch  to  far  Stornoway  and  the 
solitudes  of  the  Outer  Hebrides  ?  With  a  fair  Avind,  and  pro- 
vided that  the  Greater  Minch  Avas  not  rolling  mountains  high  be- 
fore a  north-easterly  gale,  they  might  do  the  sixty-five  miles  be- 
tween Portree  and  the  Lewis  in  a  day.  They  would  adventure 
it.     They  would  visit  that  vast  "  peat  floating  in  the  Atlantic." 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  281 

They  would  touch  the  "ultima  Thule"  of  Boethius;  and  was 
there  not  some  talk,  too,  of  letters  of  introduction  to  a  mysteri- 
ous island  potentate  who  had  abundant  salmon-fishing,  and  whose 
daughter  had  a  yacht,  the  marvel  of  these  distant  isles  ? 

But  now,  as  they  lay  in  Portree,  the  last  anchorage  between 
Skye  and  Lewis,  they  did  not  seem  quite  so  enthusiastic  about 
this  project.  Mrs.  Warrener  considered  that,  before  attempting 
a  voyage  round  the  Outer  Hebrides,  they  should  get  back  to  Cas- 
tle Bandbox  and  get  a  sufficient  supply  of  all  sorts  of  necessaries. 
Her  daughter  had  been  making  private  and  anxious  inquiries  of 
Captain  Jimmy,  who  had  frightened  her  with  the  possibility  of 
their  being  becalmed  out  in  the  middle  of  the  Minch — as  he  had 
been  the  summer  before  —  for  three  days  and  nights,  with  the 
heavy  Atlantic  swell  rolling  the  Sea-Pyot  about  in  a  fashion 
which  a  landswoman  would  not  readily  forget.  All  these  and 
other  considerations  were  being  discussed  at  breakfast,  Violet 
alone  being  silent  and  distraite.  At  last,  Mr.  Drummond,  deem- 
ing that  his  guest  had  the  best  right  to  decide,  frankly  asked  her 
what  she  would  rather  do. 

Now  the  girl  had  lain  awake  nearly  the  whole  night,  and  she 
was  nervous,  troubled,  almost  in  an  hysterical  state.  She  had  been 
thinking  of  that  beautiful,  enthusiastic  time  at  Isle  Ornsay ;  and 
somehow,  when  he  put  this  question  suddenly  to  her,  the  differ- 
ence between  that  time  and  this  so  overcame  her  that  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  she  could  not  speak.  She  endeavored  to 
escape  unperceived ;  but  his  question  had  drawn  attention  to  her. 
When  she  quietly  left  the  saloon,  Mrs.  Warrener  followed ;  her 
daughter  remained,  convinced  that  there  was  something  behind 
all  this  that  she  did  not  understand. 

Then  she  saw  her  uncle  rise,  and  he  was  obviously  very  much 
agitated.  All  the  generous  kindliness  of  the  man's  nature  re- 
volted against  the  wretchedness  which  this  girl  was  too  clearly 
suffering;  and  could  he  any  longer  doubt  that  what  his  sister 
had  told  him  was  true  ?  The  girl  was  miserable  ;  she  should  not 
remain  miserable  through  him. 

He  Avent  on  deck,  where  the  two  women  were  walking  up  and 
down. 

"  Sarah,"  he  said,  with  great  apparent  firmness  and  calmness, 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  Violet  for  a  moment." 

His  sister  withdrew,  and  then  he  said,  in  the  same  tone, 


282  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  I  can  not  let  this  continue,  Violet.  We  have  made  a  mistake. 
Let  us  look  on  what  has  happened  during  these  past  few  days  as 
never  having  happened  at  all,  and  try  to  forget  it." 

She  heard.  It  was  all  a  mistake,  then.  That  beautiful  past 
was  only  a  dream. 

At  this  moment — she  remembered  it  long  after  with  a  strange 
Avonder — she  looked  up  to  his  face  with  a  frank  and  kindly  smile. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  we  have  made  a  mistake.  Is  it  not 
fortunate  that  we  have  found  out  so  soon — before  there  is  any 
harm  done  ?  Now  we  can  be  as  we  were  before ;  and  it  is — it  is 
quite  fortunate  there  is  no  harm  done.  Shall  we  go  down  now? 
I  must  apologize  to  them,  and  promise  to  make  no  more  scenes." 

She  seemed  quite  pleased,  and  she  smiled  ;  but  he  noticed  that 
the  small  white  hand  which  she  placed  on  the  top  of  the  compan- 
ion-stairs to  steady  her  descent  trembled  so  violently  that  he 
thought  she  must  have  fallen.  He  could  not  understand  all  this ; 
but  the  girl  had  an  excitable  temperament :  perhaps  the  events  of 
the  last  few  days  had  been  a  little  too  much  for  her  nerves. 

She  was  quite  mirthful  during  breakfast.  She  said  she  did 
not  care  whether  they  went  on  to  Stornoway  or  back  to  Castle 
Bandbox,  so  long  as  they  lived  in  this  curious  little  floating 
house,  with  its  miscellaneous  groceries,  and  expedients  in  cook- 
ing, and  makeshifts,  and  mishaps.  On  the  whole,  she  thought 
they  had  better  go  back  and  fit  out  for  the  longer  trip.  At  pres- 
ent, at  all  events,  they  could  not  go  on  to  Stornoway  at  all ;  for 
there  was  scarcely  any  wind. 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  delighted  to  see  the  girl  once  more  bright 
and  cheerful :  she  knew  that  the  desired  explanation  had  at 
length  been  made,  and  happier  days  were  in  store  for  all  of  them. 
So  she,  too,  gave  in  her  vote  for  returning ;  not  without  the  se- 
cret hope  that  they  might  find  George  Miller  awaiting  them  at 
Castle  Bandbox. 

When  they  went  on  deck,  accordingly,  they  found  the  great 
mainsail  hanging  loose  in  the  sunlight,  though  there  was  scarcely 
enough  wind  to  make  the  canvas  flap,  while  the  men  were  hoist- 
ing the  gaff-topsail.  Far  up  in  the  blue,  the  small  red  pennon  at 
the  topmast  gleamed  like  a  tongue  of  flame.  The  water  was  al- 
most smooth  around  them,  showing  accurate  reflections  of  the 
motionless  white  clouds,  and  of  the  dusky  mountains  over  there 
that  were  mostly  in  shadow.     In  the  south,  and  behind  the  olives 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  283 

and  browns  of  these  great  shoulders  of  rock,  stood  the  sharply 
serrated  line  of  the  Cuchullins,  the  peaks  of  a  pale  transparent 
blue. 

They  managed  to  get  out  of  the  harbor,  and,  once  fairly  in  the 
open,  they  saw  how  impossible  it  would  have  been  to  have  at- 
tempted Stornoway  at  this  time.  Away  out  there,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Minch,  the  sea  was  like  glass ;  here  at  hand  there  was 
a  slight  breeze  that  just  kept  the  boat  going,  but  that  breeze  was 
from  the  north-east.  Miss  Amy,  for  one,  was  glad  they  were  not 
going  to  risk  being  becalmed  for  a  few  days  on  the  long  Atlantic 
swell. 

When,  however,  they  had  crept  down  to  the  Sound  of  Raasay, 
the  slight  breeze  that  had  carried  them  so  far  died  off  altogether ; 
and  they  were  motionless  in  a  dead  calm.  The  sea  was  a  perfect 
mirror,  in  which  that  long  panorama  of  mountains  —  faint  and 
mystical  in  the  heat  of  the  sun — was  reflected  with  a  surprising 
exactness.  There  was  neither  a  house  nor  a  ship  within  sight. 
They  seemed  absolutely  alone  in  a  world  of  glassy  water,  of  silent 
hills,  and  motionless  skies. 

In  ordinary  circumstances  this  would  have  been  a  time  for 
novel-reading,  card-playing,  sewing,  smoking,  and  so  on — the  va- 
rious amusements  and  occupations  possible  on  board  ship ;  but 
curiously  enough  they  did  not  seem  to  be  much  in  want  of  any 
such  means  of  passing  the  time.  James  Drummond  kept  pacing 
up  and  down  the  deck — like  a  caged  hyena,  said  his  sister,  who 
was  in  the  best  of  spirits  —  answering  the  questions  or  remarks 
addressed  to  him  rather  absently.  Violet  was  perfectly  silent, 
and  sat  apart,  looking  out  to  sea.  Her  accustomed  companion, 
seeing  the  girl  looked  rather  fatigued  and  wearied,  tried  to  induce 
her  to  join  in  some  sport  or  other,  but  without  avail. 

At  this  moment,  indeed,  the  very  number  of  conflicting  emo- 
tions pressing  in  on  the  girl  prevented  her  realizing  to  the  utmost 
her  desolation  and  misery.  She  had  so  many  things  to  think  of ; 
so  many  recollections  to  recall ;  so  many  quick,  contrary,  puzzling 
interpretations  to  consider  of  all  this  that  had  happened.  She 
was  a  trifle  bewildered,  perhaps,  so  that  the  keen  edge  of  her 
wretchedness  was  blunted.  For  one  moment,  for  example,  she 
would  think  with  some  slight  surprise  of  the  readiness  with 
which  he  had  thrown  up  this  engagement;  the  next  she  would 
accuse  herself  of  selfishness  in  expecting  that  he  would  continue 


284  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  act  a  lie  for  her  sake.  Was  it  not  better  for  both,  indeed,  that 
the  truth  should  be  known  ?  There  was  no  harm  done,  she  had 
assured  him.     In  a  short  time  all  would  be  as  it  had  been. 

At  the  same  time,  she  felt  very  lonely.  She  had  no  mother. 
There  were  certain  things  about  which  she  did  not  care  to  speak 
even  to  this  kind  friend  who  had  tried  to  be  as  good  as  a  mother 
to  her. 

"  Violet,"  said  the  young  girl  near  her,  coming  up  to  her  and 
putting  her  arm  round  her  neck,  "  you  will  blind  your  eyes  if 
you  look  so  constantly  at  the  sea.  Don't  you  know  that?  I 
wish  you  would  come  and  persuade  Captain  Jimmy  to  make  us 
some  of  those  rope-quoits  you  were  speaking  of — come !" 

"  No,  thank  you,  dear,"  she  said,  rising ;  "  I  am  going  down  to 
wrrite  a  letter." 

"And  where  do  you  mean  to  post  it?"  said  Amy,  with  a  laugh. 
"  In  a  bottle  ?" 

"  I  only  want  to  write  it :  wre  can  post  it  at  the  first  place  we 
land." 

"  Don't  be  too  curious,  Amy,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  smile. 
"  To  write  to  one's  friends  in  absence  is  like  having  a  talk  with 
them ;  and  that  is  pleasant  to  you  without  thinking  of  how  the 
letter  is  to  be  forwarded." 

But  Mrs.  Warrener  was  wrong  in  her  conjecture  as  to  the  per- 
son with  whom  Violet  wished  to  converse  in  this  silent  and  mys- 
tic fashion.  She  had  no  intention  of  writing  a  long  love-letter, 
full  of  contrition  for  past  cruelty,  and  promises  of  kindness  in 
the  future.  She  took  advantage  of  the  dead  calm  to  write  the 
following  few  lines  to  her  father; 

"  Yacht  Sea-Pyot,  off  the  Coast  of  Skye,  Sept.  — ,  187-. 
"  My  dear  Papa, — I  suppose  by  this  time  Mr.  Miller  has  told 
you  that  he  has  asked  me  definitely  to  marry  him,  and  that  I  re- 
fused. I  could  not  marry  him.  I  waited  a  long  time  to  see,  be- 
cause he  was  so  anxious  about  it,  but  it  was  no  use ;  and  I  am 
sorry  if  I  have  caused  him  pain  or  annoyance.  And  so  you  see, 
dear  papa,  as  I  am  not  engaged,  and  have  no  prospect  of  getting 
married  to  any  body,  I  am  thrown  on  your  hands  again,  like  a 
bad  sixpence.  I  had  some  notion  that  you  had  got  rid  of  me 
at  last ;  but  I  really  could  not  bring  myself  to  marry  Mr.  Miller. 
Now  what  I  want  you  to  do,  dear  papa,  is  this.     I  do  not  think  I 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  285 

can  stay  longer  with  Mrs.  Warrener  when  they  return  to  town. 
They  have  been  more  kind  to  me  than  I  can  tell  you  —  all  of 
them ;  I  have  never  seen  any  body  in  my  life  treated  with  such 
constant  kindness ;  I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  them. 
But  I  don't  think  I  can  always  stay  with  them ;  and  do  you 
think,  dear  papa,  you  could  board  me  out  somewhere  when  I  get 
back  to  London  ?  I  should  be  sorry  to  trouble  Lady  North ;  if 
we  did  agree  for  a  time,  my  temper  would  soon  break  the  whole 
thing  up  again.  And  if  you  could  think  of  some  way,  dear  papa, 
in  which  I  could  be  useful — I  should  not  like  to  be  living  like  a 
genteel  pauper,  doing  nothing,  caring  for  nothing.  I  should  like 
to  earn  my  own  living,  if  you  would  allow  me ;  and  I  have  been 
thinking  of  two  or  three  ways.  They  say  my  figure  is  passable ; 
I  might  become  one  of  those  living  models  that  the  big  milliners 
have  for  showing  ladies'  dresses  —  walking  up  and  down,  you 
know,  before  the  purchaser.  Or  I  might  get  a  place  in  one  of 
those  large  restaurants,  to  serve  behind  the  bar ;  but  I  fear  that 
would  tend  to  give  me  a  low  opinion  of  my  fellow  -  beings.  I 
could  not  be  a  governess ;  I  should  box  the  dear  creatures'  ears 
when  they  were  impertinent :  besides,  that  trip  to  Canada  pretty 
nearly  put  an  end  to  my  music.  I  could  not  take  to  dress-mak- 
ing; because  I  make  nearly  all  my  own  dresses,  and  I  would  not 
make  another  woman's  for  her,  to  encourage  her  in  her  idleness. 
So  what  is  there  left  ?  I  am  glad  that  I  am  not  a  father,  with 
a  bad  sixpence  always  turning  up ;  but  I  am  your  affectionate 
daughter,  Violet  North." 

She  went  on  deck. 

"  Violet,"  said  Mr.  Drummond  to  her,  speaking  in  a  very  kind- 
ly way,  and  noticing  that  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  "  if  you  want 
your  letter  posted  soon,  we  will  go  in  to  Broadford  instead  of  go- 
ing on — that  is,  if  we  are  ever  to  see  Broadford  again." 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  she  said,  with  much  distinctness.  "  The 
letter  is  in  no  hurry.  It  is  quite  a  question,  indeed,  whether  it 
catches  papa  in  town." 

"  Have  you  written  only  to  your  papa  ?"  said  Mrs.  Warrener, 
concealing  a  smile. 

"  I  have  written  only  to  papa,"  the  girl  said,  turning  round  with 
some  surprise. 

They  did  get  down  to  Broadford,  however,  creeping  along  be- 


286  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

fore  the  occasional  puffs  of  wind,  which  were  becoming  more  fre- 
quent. "When  they  drew  near  the  opening  of  the  bay,  they  had 
then  to  decide  wdiether  they  would  go  in  and  anchor  for  the 
night,  or  go  on ;  the  skipper  being  altogether  in  favor  of  going 
on,  partly  because  he  always  expressed  a  certain  doubt  about  the 
safety  of  Broadford  Bay,  and  partly  because  there  were  indica- 
tions that  this  too  fine  weather  would  not  last.  So  on  they  went, 
in  the  wonderful  roseate  evening,  watching  the  colors  die  out  on 
the  hills,  and  the  first  yellow  glimmer  of  the  Loch  Alsh  light- 
house appear  in  the  gathering  gray.  What  wind  there  was  be- 
gan to  shift  about  somewhat :  they  had  the  topsail  taken  down 
as  they  got  into  the  narrower  waters  between  Balmacarra  and 
Kyle- Akin.  AYhen,  after  dinner  that  night,  the  voyagers  came 
on  deck,  as  was  their  wont,  they  saw  that  the  moon  behind  the 
black  hills  of  Skye  had  an  ominous  ring  round  it.  They  were 
clearly  approaching  the  end  of  that  long  spell  of  fine  weather. 

But  the  wind  did  not  rise  till  next  morning  about  seven  or 
eight  o'clock.  All  through  the  night  they  had  been  creeping 
along  through  the  dangerous  Narrows  of  Skye  and  into  the  open- 
er waters  of  Glenelg  .Bay  ;  and  it  was  well  that  they  had  fair  sea- 
room  when  this  squally  south-eastern  gale  began  to  blow.  In  a 
very  short  space  of  time  the  aspect  of  things  was  considerably 
changed.  When  Mr.  Drummond  put  his  head  up  the  companion, 
he  got  some  intimation  of  what  was  going  on  by  finding  his  cap 
caught  by  the  wind  and  whirled  out  to  sea.  He  returned  with 
the  report  that  it  was  raining  hard ;  a  good  stiff  breeze  blowing ; 
the  sea  rising. 

Smothered  in  water  -  proof  s,  they  made  their  morning  appear- 
ance on  deck.  "What  a  change !  "Watery  mists  half  hiding  the 
gloomy  mountains  of  the  main -land;  the  sun  only  a  confused 
glow  of  light  behind  the  whirling  masses  of  vapor ;  the  sea  a 
stormy  and  desolate  waste  of  gray-green,  with  the  long,  rushing, 
roaring  lines  of  the  sea-horses  coming  sweeping  along  to  break  on 
the  plunging  bows  of  the  vessel.  Violet  was  glad  of  all  this — 
of  the  new,  keen  life  and  motion  that  had  burst  upon  them ;  she 
would  go  into  no  shelter ;  she  stood  with  her  face  growing  red 
with  the  beating  rain,  with  her  teeth  set  against  the  wind,  with 
her  eyes  proud  and  glad  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  at 
this  place  before.  No  longer  did  she  look  at  the  rain-desolated 
Isle  Ornsay,  or  at  the  gloomy  mountains  of  Loch  Hourn,  with 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  287 

any  thing  of  sentimental  regret.  This  wild  day  seemed  better 
fitted  to  her  now.  In  her  reckless  feeling  of  the  moment,  she 
hoped  the  gale  would  increase  a  hundred-fold ;  had  she  been  alone 
on  board,  she  would  have  been  glad,  perhaps,  had  the  vessel  gone 
foundering  down  to  the  bottom.  The  past  was  gone — with  its 
fair  summer  skies,  its  blue  seas,  its  thousand  secret  and  tender 
hopes  ;  now  let  the  wild  winds  blow  as  they  pleased ! 

And  they  did  blow,  though  not  at  the  bidding  of  an  unhappy 
girl.  Captain  Jimmy  had  very  speedily  to  reef  his  mainsail ;  and 
the  hatches  were  closed,  for  there  was  a  good  deal  of  water  com- 
ing leaping  over  the  Sea-PyoVs  bows. 

"  We  shall  have  a  heavy  sea  on  before  we  get  down  to  Ardna- 
murchan,"  said — or  rather  shouted — Mr.  Drummond  to  his  skip- 
per. 

"  Na,"  said  Jimmy,  with  the  rain  running  down  his  nose,  "  na, 
na,  it  will  be  no  a  ferry  bad  sea ;  but,"  he  added,  cautiously,  "  it 
will  be  better  if  the  leddies  will  put  the  things  in  the  cabin  safe 
— that  will  be  better  whatever." 

Indeed,  long  before  they  got  to  Ardnamurchan  they  had  need 
to  make  things  secure,  for  the  gale  had  raised  a  heavy  sea,  which 
tossed  about  the  small  Sea-Pyot  like  a  cork,  and  rattled  the  glass- 
es and  candlesticks  below  in  an  alarming  manner.  Yet  there 
was  much  delight  in  this  day's  voyage  —  through  the  plunging 
seas  and  whirling  rains,  and  past  the  bleak  and  desolate  islands 
lying  in  the  waste  of  waters.  There  was  little  opportunity  for 
speaking  ;  there  were  many  things  to  claim  attention  ;  Violet,  for 
one,  was  glad  of  the  excitement  and  distraction  afforded  by  the 
storm.  As  the  day  wore  on,  the  violence  of  the  wind  increased  ; 
and  when  at  length  they  got  down  to  Ardnamurchan  and  faced 
the  mouth  of  the  Sound  of  Mull,  the  sea  was  running  high  enough 
to  cause  the  yacht  to  groan  and  creak  in  all  her  timbers  as  she 
rose  and  plunged  with  the  waves.  The  skipper  did  not  at  all  like 
the  look  of  the  sky.  There  were  intervals  of  a  strange  darkness, 
followed  by  periods  of  a  no  less  strange  light,  when  the  sun  seem- 
ed to  be  shining  through  a  mass  of  vapor  quite  close  at  hand. 
Along  the  western  horizon  there  was  a  curious  copper  color.  No 
one  was  particularly  sorry  when  the  Sea-Pyot  succeeded  in  run- 
ning into  Tobermory  Bay. 

But  even  here,  in  this  small  harbor,  the  gale  pursued  them  ; 
and  in  the  dusk  they  could  hear  the  heavy  waves  dashing  against 


288  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

the  sea-wall  and  the  quay.  Before  turning  in  for  the  night,  the 
skipper  threw  out  his  second  anchor,  and  an  anchor-watch  was  or- 
dered. During  that  wild  night,  some  of  those  in  the  small  cabins 
lay  awake  and  listened  to  the  creaking  of  the  timbers  as  the  yacht 
plunged  and  rolled  at  her  anchorage,  and  to  the  long  swish  of  the 
waves  along  her  sides ;  and  even  these  sounds  were  scarcely  so 
ominous  as  the  tramp  of  men  overhead  and  the  calling  of  the 
skipper — he  having  got  his  mates  up  at  two  in  the  morning  to 
lower  the  topmast  and  take  the  gig  in  from  her  davits  on  deck, 
so  that  the  wind  should  have  less  pressure  on  the  yacht.  Had 
she  dragged  her  anchors  that  night,  there  would  have  been  no 
need  to  tell  this  story. 

In  the  morning  the  state  of  affairs  was  even  worse.  The  gale 
had  increased  in  fury.  Here,  in  this  small  harbor,  huge  green 
waves  went  rolling  by — their  summits  caught  and  whirled  away 
in  foam  by  the  wind,  to  dash  on  the  sea-wall  of  the  little  town 
and  send  volumes  of  spray  on  to  the  houses  and  shops.  All  the 
doors  were  shut  against  the  storm.  The  blue  smoke  from  one 
or  two  chimneys  was  blown  this  way  and  that  by  squalls  of  wind  ; 
and  now  and  again  the  woods  on  the  hill  beside  the  town  were 
swept  by  flying  rain-clouds.  Out  at  sea  nothing  was  visible  but 
the  white  crests  of  the  breakers;  but  here  in  the  bay  the  crews 
of  the  coasters — black  and  bulky  craft  that  rolled  heavily  in  the 
waves — were  busy  making  themselves  as  secure  as  they  could  with 
extra  cables.  It  was  a  sufficiently  perilous  business  for  two  men 
who  were  in  a  small  boat ;  and  who,  every  minute  or  so,  were 
completely  lost  to  sight  in  the  trough  of  a  great  wave,  while  at 
other  times  the  water  could  be  seen  breaking  over  them  in  drench- 
ing showers. 

Of  course  there  was  no  chance  of  getting  out  that  day ;  it  was 
for  a  long  time  doubtful  whether  they  dared  venture  ashore,  short 
as  the  distance  was.  At  length  Mr.  Drummond  volunteered  to 
go  ashore  in  the  gig  with  a  couple  of  men  to  post  Violet's  letter. 
But  she  would  not  give  the  letter  up. 

"  I  am  going,  in  any  case,"  said  he.  "  You  may  as  well  allow 
me  to  post  your  letter  for  you." 

She  stood  irresolute,  impatient,  embarrassed :  she  had  a  great 
wish  to  implore  him,  for  her  sake,  not  to  venture  ;  but  how  could 
she  do  so  noio  ?  The  men  were  lowering  the  gig.  Drummond 
was  buttoning  on  a  big  sou'-wester. 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  289 

"  Now,  Violet :  the  letter,  if  you  please." 

She  suddenly  pulled  it  from  her  pocket,  tore  it  in  a  dozen 
pieces,  and  flung  it  overboard — the  wind  whirling  the  pieces  away 
like  feathers. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?"  said  he.  "  I  must  go  ashore — there 
is  no  risk." 

He  jumped  into  the  boat  and  took  the  tiller-ropes ;  the  men 
pushed  off  from  the  yacht  and  struck  their  oars  into  the  water ; 
the  next  moment  the  gig  was  borne  away  on  the  crest  of  a  mighty 
wave,  only  to  dip  the  next  minute,  and  half  disappear  in  a  cloud 
of  windy  spray.  They  nearly  fouled  the  chain -cable  of  one  of 
the  colliers — which  probably  would  have  ended  their  voyage  for 
them  ;  but  having  missed  that  danger,  they  encountered  no  other ; 
and  soon  those  on  board  the  yacht  saw  through  the  sea-spray  the 
tall  figure  of  Mr.  Drummond  walking  solitarily  along  the  high 
quay. 

"Don't  you  know  why  he  has  gone  ashore?"  Mrs.  Warren  er 
said  to  Violet,  with  an  amused  look. 

"  No — not  at  all,"  the  girl  said.  "  I  can  imagine  no  reason  at 
all  for  running  into  such  danger." 

"  There  is  not  any  danger,  Captain  Jimmy  says,  only  they  will 
be  drenched  through  in  coming  back." 

"  And  why  did  he  go  ashore  ?" 

"To  get  some  new  bread  for  you.  He  was  vexed  that  you 
had  to  eat  biscuit  at  breakfast  this  morning." 

"  I  would  rather  eat  tarred  rope,"  she  said,  vehemently ;  and 
then  she  stopped  and  turned  away :  she  was  schooling  herself  to 
silence. 

In  due  time  Mr.  Drummond  returned  on  board,  drenched,  but 
successful.  He  had  got  new  bread,  fresh  butter,  a  newspaper  not 
more  than  two  days  old,  some  fresh  milk  and  eggs,  and  a  cap  to 
replace  the  one  of  which  the  sea  had  robbed  him  the  day  before. 
Likewise  there  were  two  or  three  little  trinkets  for  the  women  : 
he  said  the  impulse  to  buy  every  thing  he  saw  was  almost  irresist- 
ible— he  had  grown  so  tired  of  always  finding  the  same  amount 
of  money  in  his  pockets. 

The  wild  weather  continued  all  day.  Occasionally  a  brief 
break  appeared  in  the  flying  clouds ;  and  a  watery  sunshine 
streamed  down  on  the  white  house  of  Tobermory,  and  on  the 
green  trees  over  them  and  around  them ;  this  flash  of  brightness 

13 


290  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

being  all  the  more  brilliant  on  account  of  the  black  masses  of 
rain-cloud  forming  the  background  to  the  green  and  white  little 
town.  But  presently  this  frail  vision  of  sunshine  would  disap- 
pear ;  and  the  old  picture  would  be  presented  of  the  huge  green 
waves,  of  the  black  hulls  of  the  coasters  rolling  heavily,  of  white 
foam  and  wind-swept  clouds. 

Then  rain  set  in  steadily  in  the  afternoon,  and  they  were  forced 
to  go  below,  to  seek  refuge  in  books  and  cards.  Occasionally, 
there  was  a  little  conversation — not  much ;  and  Violet  was  glad 
when  it  ceased ;  for  she  was  beginning  to  see  that  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  wished  very  much  to  be  considered  gay  and  cheerful,  where- 
as the  quick  eyes  of  the  girl  pei'ceived  that  he  was  so  only  by 
fits  and  starts,  and  obviously  with  some  effort.  He  had  been 
rummaging  among  the  books  left  by  his  friend  in  the  yacht;  and 
had  lighted  upon  an  old  copy  of  Herodotus,  which  he  professed 
to  treat  as  a  description  of  Europe  at  the  present  day  written  in 
the  form  of  a  parable.  "What  was  this  about  a  marriage-market, 
and  the  prettiest  girls  fetching  the  highest  prices?  And  how 
could  Cyrus  have  known  any  thing  about  the  Stock  Exchange 
when  he  said :  "  I  was  never  yet  afraid  of  those  who  in  the  midst 
of  their  city  have  a  place  set  apart,  in  which  they  collect  and 
cheat  one  another  by  false  oaths  ?"  He  was  much  interested  in 
learning  that  the  vessels  which  sailed  down  the  river  to  Babylon 
were  circular;  and  also  that  "every  vessel  has  a  live  ass  on  board, 
and  the  larger  ones  more ;"  but  he  considered  that  the  writer  had 
made  a  slip  here,  as  we  have  not  yet  adopted  the  circular  form 
of  iron-clad.  And  so  forth.  Sometimes  they  understood  these 
occult  references ;  sometimes  they  did  not.  Had  Mr.  Miller  been 
present,  he  would  have  turned  away  disgusted,  for  he  never  saw 
the  fun  of  any  one  trying  to  puzzle  you  by  obscure  jokes.  A 
joke  was. a  joke  —  something  to  laugh  at  —  not  a  conundrum. 
What,  for  example,  could  Mr.  Drummond  mean  by  saying  to  him 
one  night  at  the  Judaeum  that  he  supposed  the  favorite  wine  at 
the  Club  was  old  Go'  de  Vougeot  ? 

They  were  more  interested,  however,  in  the  next  book  he  pro- 
ceeded to  skim ;  which  was  a  statistical  description  of  the  Hebri- 
des, accompanying  the  sailing  directions  issued  by  the  Admiralty. 
For  suddenly  he  said, 

"  Sarah,  do  you  think  you  could  leave  London  ?" 

"  For  good  ?" 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  291 

"  Yes." 

"  To  live  where  ?" 

"  Somewhere  about  this  coast." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  think  of  the  winter — the  bleakness,  the  bit- 
ter cold—" 

"  It  is  exactly  the  absence  of  cold  that  is  the  attraction — that 
made  me  think  of  living  here  in  reading  this  book.  The  temper- 
ature of  Lewis  is  the  most  mild  and  equable  of  any  part  of  the 
British  Isles — as  I  read.  Snow  seldom  lies  in  these  western  re- 
gions. Look  at  the  various  shrubs  and  plants  that  grow  out-of- 
doors  here  that  are  only  to  be  found  in  hot -houses  elsewhere. 
They  have  camellias  in  their  gardens  in  Cantyre." 

"  What  should  we  do  all  the  winter  ?"  said  his  sister. 

"  That  is  the  point,"  said  he,  rather  wistfully.  "  Would  you 
care  to  make  the  experiment  ?  We  might  get  tired  of  it — but  not 
more  tired  than  I  am  now  of  London." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  wherever  you  please,"  she  said. 

"  How  about  Amy  ?" 

"  She  can  finish  her  schooling  now  at  home,"  her  mother  an- 
swered. 

Some  silence  ensued.  It  was  with  a  strange  sinking  of  the 
heart  that  Violet  had  heard  this  conversation.  They  had  never 
mentioned  her ;  they  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  she  would 
leave  them  when  they  returned  to  London ;  and  yet,  she  asked  her- 
self, why  ?  They  could  not  have  known  what  she  wrote  to  her 
father;  and  she  had  given  them  no  hint  of  her  intentions.  Up 
till  now  they  had  invariably  consulted  her  about  their  joint  plans, 
and  were  almost  too  anxious  to  accommodate  their  arrangements 
to  her  wishes.  Now  she  was  left  out  altogether ;  and  she  knew 
them  too  well  to  suspect  them  of  any  thing  but  an  innocent  as- 
sumption that  it  was  unnecessary  to  ask  her. 

Amy,  who  had  been  absent,  came  into  the  saloon  at  this  mo- 
ment. 

"Come  here,  child,  and  tell  us  —  would  you  like  to  come  and 
live  always  in  the  Highlands  ?" 

The  girl,  in  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world,  turned  \o 
Violet. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Violet?" 

Happily,  in  the  dusk,  the  extreme  embarrassment  of  the  girl 
was  nut  visible. 


292  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  I  ?"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  Your  mamma  understands, 
Amy,  that — that  you  must  leave  me  out — " 

"  You  are  not  going  away  from  us  ?"  cried  her  old  school- 
companion,  in  dismay. 

"  Not  if  we  can  prevent  you,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said,  in  her  kind- 
ly way ;  and  as  she  was  passing  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  shoul- 
der of  the  girl — "  not  if  we  can  prevent  you,  Violet.  But  there 
comes  a  time  when  the  young  birds  will  insist  on  flying  away 
from  the  nest;  and  though  we  elder  folk  can't  be  expected  to 
like  it,  still  it  is  the  old  story.  Come,  who  will  adventure  for  a 
blow  on  deck?     We  must  give  the  saloon  up  to  Duucan  now." 

The  force  of  the  gale  still  prevented  their  leaving  Tobermory 
that  day ;  it  was  not  until  the  following  afternoon  that  they  were 
allowed  to  start.  By  that  time  a  vague  impression  had  been 
formed  in  Violet's  mind  that  she  had  made  her  last  trip  in  the 
Sea-Pyot. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CHALLENGED. 

Other  impressions,  too,  she  was  rapidly  forming,  of  a  much 
graver  character,  and  likely  to  lead  to  decisive  action.  The  quick 
eyes  of  the  girl  saw  through  this  affectation  of  cheerfulness  which 
James  Drummond  sought  to  preserve  in  her  presence.  She  came 
to  know,  in  a  vague  way,  and  yet  with  absolute  certainty,  that  he 
was  beset  by  an  anxious  care.  She  had  expected  that  the  break- 
ing-asunder  of  those  tender  ties  which  had  been  too  hastily  formed 
would  have  released  him,  at  least,  from  all  anxiety  and  embarrass- 
ment, and  she  was  glad  to  think  that  that  would  be  the  result, 
whatever  the  cost  might  be  to  her ;  now  she  knew,  with  a  great 
sadness,  that  this  her  best  of  friends  carried  about  with  him  a 
heavy  heart  underneath  all  that  pretense  of  kindly  merriment. 
She  knew  it.  She  could  read  it  in  his  eyes  when  she  met  him 
unexpectedly.  And  she  could  not  but  imagine  that  the  cause  of 
this  secret  care  was  herself. 

What  could  be  more  simple  than  her  line  of  reasoning? — if 
that  could  be  called  reasoning  which  was  rather  a  succession  of 
leaps  of  fancies  and  emotions.      He   was  wretched  because  he 


CHALLENGED.  293 

could  not  return  tbe  affection  she  had  offered  him.  To  free  him 
from  that  hasty  and  mutual  pledge  was  nothing,  so  long  as  she 
remained  there  to  recall  it  by  her  presence.  To  a  person  of  his 
imaginative,  sensitive,  and  unselfish  temperament  she  would  ap- 
pear as  a  standing  reproach;  he  would  consider  himself  —  how- 
ever unnecessarily — the  cause  of  her  unhappiness ;  and  would  be 
miserable  himself  in  consequence. 

"And  this,"  she  thought  to  herself,  with  some  bitterness,  "is 
what  I  have  brought  to  him ;  this  is  how  I  repay  him  for  all  his 
kindness  to  me." 

And  so  she  became  more  and  more  anxious  to  get  back  to  Cas- 
tle Bandbox.  Perhaps  something  would  occur  then  to  put  an 
end  to  this  unhappy  state  of  affairs ;  though  she  knew  that  her 
heart-ache  over  the  loss  of  the  one  highest  dream  of  her  life  was 
not  to  be  cured  by  any  change  of  circumstance.  She  breathed 
more  freely,  then,  when  at  last  they  weighed  anchor,  and  stood 
out  into  the  Sound  of  Mull. 

The  wind  had  fallen  rapidly,  but  there  was  still  a  heavy  sea  on, 
and  the  afternoon  sunlight  sometimes  shone  stormily  through  the 
floating  masses  of  vapor  that  clung  about  the  Mull  mountains. 
By-and-by  the  wind  had  so  far  abated  that  it  was  deemed  per- 
missible to  hoist  the  topsail ;  and  so  they  beat  down  the  Sound 
at  a  very  fair  rate  of  speed,  hoping  to  get  home  before  midnight. 

By-and-by  they  came  in  sight  of  a  house,  only  the  tops  of  the 
chimneys  of  which  were  visible  over  a  line  of  dark -green  trees. 
It  looked  a  solitary  place,  on  these  lonely  shores. 

"  That  iss  Finnorie,"  said  the  skipper.  "  There  iss  no  song 
the  people  will  like  so  well  as  the  'Farewell  to  Finnorie' — not 
any  song  they  will  like  so  well  as  that  one." 

Violet  did  not  know  this  pathetic  little  piece  ;  but  she  knew 
that  she,  too,  was  bidding  her  farewell  to  Finnorie,  and  to  more 
than  Finnorie.  They  were  all  standing  on  deck  at  this  time. 
She  said, 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  bid  good-bye  to  a  place  you  have  known." 

"  It  is  a  sadder  thing  to  bid  good-bye  to  illusions,"  said  Mr. 
Drummond,  somewhat  absently ;  but  he  had  scarcely  uttered  the 
words  when  he  seemed  to  check  himself.  "  Though  one  ought 
to  be  glad  about  it,"  he  added,  quickly ;  "  the  sooner  we  get  rid 
of  illusions,  the  better.  The  operation  is  not  nice,  but  the  re- 
sults are  wholesome.     Finnorie,  now.     And  that  is  the  manse  of 


294  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

Finnorie  ?  I  suppose  the  song  will  last  a  century  yet.  Perhaps 
it  was  only  an  accident ;  or  was  it  composed  with  a  view  to  post- 
humous fame  ?  There  is  no  man  without  that,  you  may  be  sure  ; 
though  the  ordinary  person's  notion  of  posthumous  fame  is  to 
live  in  the  kindly  recollection  of  sons  and  daughters,  and  grand- 
children, and  friends — a  very  good  thing  too,  you  know — it  has 
a  hold  on  a  man's  actions ;  it  may  make  him  more  generous  than 
he  would  otherwise  be.  What,  now,  is  the  nearest  town  or  vil- 
lage to  this  remote  little  manse  ?     Loch  Aline,  I  suppose." 

He  stopped  there.  Loch  Aline  —  that  was  the  place  young 
Miller  was  supposed  to  make  for  when  he  left  them  on  that  mem- 
orable Sunday.  Some  strange  things  had  occurred  since  then — 
too  strange,  perhaps,  to  be  understood  just  yet. 

The  dark  came  on ;  in  the  dusk  they  could  see  the  livid  blue 
waves  burst  into  flowers  of  white  foam  as  they  went  rushing  past. 
It  was  an  angry  sea,  though  there  was  not  much  wind. 

"  The  sea  is  very  deep  here,  I  suppose,"  said  Violet  to  the  skip- 
per —  she  happened  to  be  standing  alone  with  him  —  he  at  the 
helm. 

"  Indeed  it  iss  that,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  If  you  Avent  overboard,  you  would  drown  soon — perhaps  you 
might  drown  before  coming  up  at  all  ?" 

"  It  would  be  a  ferry  bad  thing  to  try  that,"  said  the  skipper, 
with  a  shrewd  smile. 

She  had  not  the  least  intention  of  trying  that.  It  was  a  pass- 
ing fancy — nothing  more. 

But  they  ran  a  greater  chance  of  seeing  it  tried  that  night 
than  was  at  all  pleasant.  When  they  were  well  out  of  the  Sound 
and  crossing  to  the  south  of  Lismore  light -house,  they  were 
struck  by  a  sudden  squall.  In  the  midst  of  the  darkness  —  the 
moon  not  having  risen  as  yet — there  was  something  startling  in 
this  sudden  roar  of  wind  that  caught  the  Sea-Pyot  and  threw  her 
over  almost  on  her  beam-ends.  Instantly  the  skipper  called  out 
to  lower  the  topsail,  and  there  was  a  confused  scuffle  forward. 
The  next  moment  there  was  a  loud  shriek  from  Mrs.  Warrener, 
who  had  rushed  up  the  companion-way  to  see  what  all  the  noise 
was  about,  and  who  just  then  caught  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  men 
being  whirled  by  her  in  the  dusk  and  carried  right  up  and  over 
the  gig,  where  he  remained  suspended  in  mid-air,  the  flapping  and 
straining  topsail  tearing  this  way  and  that  over  his  head.     That 


CHALLENGED.  295 

was  Alec.  Somehow  the  sheet  had  got  twisted  round  his  feet, 
and  the  force  of  the  wind  on  the  loose  sail  had  torn  him  from 
his  hold,  though  he  clung  to  the  rope  like  a  rat.  A  hrief,  ex- 
citing period  of  tumult  ensued.  Mr.  Drummond  sprung  to  the 
man's  aid,  and  caught  him  by  the  boots ;  another  of  the  sailors 
came  running  to  his  assistance ;  and  together  they  hauled  him 
down  on  deck.  But  the  question  was  how  to  get  those  great 
blowing  volumes  of  canvas  secured,  for  the  gale  was  sweeping 
them  this  way  and  that ;  and  again  one  of  the  sailors  was  knock- 
ed off  his  feet,  and  had  to  cling  to  the  bulwarks  to  prevent  his 
being  driven  into  the  driving  sea.  This  was  becoming  too  seri- 
ous. Violet  was  standing  by — frightened,  but  with  all  her  senses 
about  her. 

"  Can  you  hold  her  for  a  moment  ?"  the  skipper  called  out. 

The  girl  seized  the  tiller ;  and  he  made  a  dive  at  the  fluttering 
canvas,  while  the  sailor  got  on  his  legs  again.  But  what  was  she 
to  do?  Right  ahead  of  her  the  great  glow  of  the  light -house 
burned  in  the  night ;  if  she  kept  the  boat  away,  she  would  ex- 
pose her  still  further  to  the  fury  of  the  gale,  and  make  it  more 
difficult  for  the  men  to  shorten  sail ;  if  she  ran  her  up  to  the 
wind,  she  might  get  dangerously  near  the  long,  black  promontory 
of  Lismore.  Captain  Jimmy,  however,  had  had  no  intention  of 
intrusting  the  safety  of  his  vessel  to  alien  hands  for  any  thing 
but  a  second.  In  another  moment  he  was  back  at  the  tiller;  the 
men  had  the  foresail  secured ;  and  all  the  damage  done  by  the 
sudden  squall  was  that  Alec  had  lost  his  cap,  and  that  Amy  War- 
rener,  having  been  thrown  down  on  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  had 
been  overwhelmed  by  a  shower  of  candle-snuffers,  shilling  novels, 
and  biscuits. 

By-and-by,  an  equable  breeze  having  succeeded  this  fragmentary 
hurricane,  they  found  themselves  lightly  and  pleasantly  running 
for  home,  while  the  moon  had  come  up  in  the  south  over  the 
black  islands,  so  that  they  should  easily  pick  their  way  along  the 
hilly  road  to  Castle  Bandbox.  It  ought  to  have  been  a  joyful 
return  after  all  this  beautiful  cruise  ;  but  there  was  a  great  silence 
on  board,  the  chief  talker  being  more  than  usually  absent  and 
thoughtful. 

"  "We  shall  soon  be  ashore  now,"  said  Mrs.  Warrcner  to  Violet, 
the  two  of  them  being  in  their  little  cabin,  packing  up  various 
things. 


296  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  girl. 

"  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  the  trip  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  thank  you,"  said  she — the  thoughtless  answer  to  an 
ordinary  question. 

"And  you  will  enjoy  a  few  days  on  shore  before  we  start 
again." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be  with  you  next  time,  Mrs.  Warrener," 
said  Violet. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Violet  ?"  said  her  friend,  ceasing  her 
work  and  standing  up. 

Perhaps  she  would  rather  not  have  answered.  Every  thing 
around  her  seemed  so  wrong  and  miserable  that  talking  about  it 
promised  little.  But,  after  all,  there  was  something  of  the  wild- 
ness  of  despair  in  the  way  in  which  the  girl  threw  out  her  hands 
and  began  to  speak  hurriedly  and  excitedly. 

"  How  can  you  ask  that  ?  Do  you  not  see  what  is  going  on  ? 
Do  you  not  see  that  your  brother  is  miserable ;  though,  with  his 
constant  kindness,  he  tries  to  conceal  it?  And  I  know  I  am  the 
cause  of  it ;  and  when  I  know  I  am  the  cause  of  wretchedness  to 
my  friends — I — I  think  it  is  time  I  was  out  of  the  way." 

"  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  taking  the  girl's  hand,  "  you  are 
too  impulsive — you  will  do  something  wild  some  day.  Now,  will 
you  listen  to  reason  ?  A  great  part  of  what  you  say  is  true. 
James  has  not  been  quite  himself  for  a  few  days  back ;  and  there 
is  no  doubt  he  is  a  little  anxious  about  you.  That  is  natural. 
He  has  had  the  greatest  interest  in  you  ever  since  he  knew  you, 
and  he  has  had  a  great  affection  for  you ;  and  he  is  not  a  man  to 
throw  those  things  aside  lightly.  He  is  not  at  all  a  man  like 
that.  When  he  has  got  to  like  any  one,  there  is  no  use  arguing 
with  him ;  he  is  very  steadfast.  Now,  can  you  wonder  at  his  be- 
ing rather  troubled  about  you?  You  yourself  have  not  been 
overhappy,  Violet,  of  late." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  been — I  have  been — overhappy,"  said 
the  girl,  with  a  strong  effort  to  restrain  her  tears. 

"And  can  you  wonder  that  he  has  been  perhaps  rather  too 
anxious  about  you,  considering  how  easily  you  will  get  out  of  all 
this  unfortunate  trouble !" 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  vehemently,  "he  shall  not  be  vexed  and 
troubled  about  me.  I  am  not  going  to  requite  all  his  great  kind- 
ness to  me  that  way." 


CHALLENGED.  297 

"  You  would  best  remove  his  trouble  by  becoming  happy  your- 
self, Violet,"  her  friend  said,  with  a  smile,  "  and  you  will  soon  be 
able  to  do  that." 

"  Soon  ?"  said  the  girl,  thoughtfully.  "  Shall  I  soon  be  able  to 
remove  this  trouble  from  him  ?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  I  suppose  now,"  said  Violet,  speaking  in  a  strangely  slow  and 
measured  way,  "  I  suppose  now,  you  would  say  that  there  is  nothing 
— nothing  in  all  the  world  he  would  not  do  to  make  me  happy  ?" 

"  Nothing!"  said  James  Drummond's  sister,  honestly,  and  with 
decision.  "  I  believe  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  he  would 
not  do  to  make  you  happy." 

The  girl  thought  for  a  moment ;  and  her  face  was  rather  pale. 

"And  I,  who  am  only — "  she  managed  to  say  that,  and  no 
more :  she  drew  a  long  breath,  and  fell  back,  her  hand  uncon- 
sciously catching  at  the  edge  of  the  berth.  Mrs.  Warrener,  with 
a  short,  quick  cry  of  terror,  caught  hold  of  her  before  she  fell, 
and  managed  to  get  her  on  to  a  chair.  After  all,  it  was  only  a 
faint — what  more  common  than  that?  When  she  came  to  her- 
self, she  was  very  much  ashamed,  and  she  wondered  how  she 
could  have  been  so  stupid ;  but  there  was  an  unusual  look  about 
the  eyes  which  Mrs.  Warrener  could  not  quite  understand. 

She  professed  to  treat  the  whole  matter  very  lightly,  however. 

"  You  are  such  a  wild  and  headstrong  girl,  Violet,  in  those 
fancies  of  yours,  that  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  you. 
I  wish  you  were  safely  married,  and  had  some  one  to  look  after 
you." 

"  I  think  I  will  go  up  on  deck  now,"  she  said — her  face  still 
somewhat  pale — "  it  is  cooler  there." 

Her  friend  accompanied  her.  They  found  the  Sea-Pyot  now 
drawing  near  to  her  moorings,  and  they  recognized  in  the  moon- 
light the  familiar  outlines  of  the  dark  hills  behind  Castle  Band- 
box. There,  too,  was  the  little  bay,  the  yellow  sand  showing  a 
pale  semicircle  of  light  in  the  shadow,  where  the  two  girls  used 
to  bathe. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  down  there  now,  Violet,"  said  Amy, 
"  and  have  a  bathe  in  the  moonlight  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  catch  you  at  it,  either  of  you  !"  said  her 
mother.  "And  yet  I  know  you  are  both  bound  to  be  drowned 
there,  sooner  or  later." 

13* 


298  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

Out  went  the  rattling  anchor-cable  with  a  roar,  in  the  silence 
of  the  ni«;ht ;  there  was  some  busy  work  with  the  sails ;  then  the 
gig  took  the  voyagers  into  the  small  landing-place.  In  the  moon- 
light they  walked  away  up  through  the  quiet  meadows  to  the 
cottage  on  the  hill.     There  was  little  said. 

Years  upon  years  it  seemed  to  Violet  North  since  she  had  left 
that  small  home  up  there ;  for  indeed  the  very  moments  seemed 
years  now,  as  she  felt  her  life  pushing  forward  to  some  tragic 
climax  with  swift,  inexorable,  irrevocable  steps.  The  gathering 
volume  of  her  emotions — love,  and  pride,  and  gratitude  all  com- 
mingled— was  carrying  her  onward,  whither  she  as  yet  dared  not 
look. 

But  she  wished  to  look  and  to  know,  whatever  it  might  be ; 
and  when  the  others  had  gone  into  the  house,  and  were  busy  in 
unpacking  and  so  forth,  she  slipped  round  by  the  back,  and  got 
into  the  road  that  led  away  up  among  the  hills.  The  cool  mount- 
ain-air was  grateful  to  her  hot  forehead ;  in  the  silence  she  could 
think  of  all  this  that  had  happened  to  her,  and  was  going  to  hap- 
pen ;  she  was  glad  to  be  away,  to  be  alone.  She  wandered  on, 
not  paying  much  heed  to  the  rocks,  and  heather,  and  young 
plantations,  all  faintly  visible  in  the  moonlight,  but  vaguely  con- 
scious of  the  murmur  of  a  stream  in  the  valley  below  her,  that 
seemed  to  make  the  silence  of  the  night  more  intense. 

She  was  in  no  blind  and  passionate  bewilderment  of  grief ;  she 
was  too  proudly  self-possessed  for  that ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  her 
that  a  great  sadness  dwelt  over  this  beautiful  night ;  and  perhaps, 
once  or  twice,  she  remembered  that  she  had  no  mother  to  whom 
she  could  go  at  this  terrible  crisis  of  her  life.  She  reasoned  with 
herself  very  calmly.  It  was  her  great  misfortune  to  love  this 
man  with  her  whole  heart ;  he  knew  it,  and  his  life  was  made 
miserable  by  the  knowledge :  how  was  all  this  unhappiness  to  be 
cured  ?  Her  going  away  would  do  no  good ;  she  would  leave 
with  him  that  anxious  care  about  herself,  that  dumb,  unspeakable 
regret  that  haunted  him  and  clouded  over  the  ordinarily  bright 
and  joyous  spirit.  And  what  was  she,  that  she  should  cause  this 
wretchedness  to  the  one  among  all  human  beings  whom  she  most 
loved  and  honored  ?  Her  sore  heart-ache,  incurable  as  it  was,  she 
could  have  borne ;  but  not  the  thought  of  the  pain  she  was  in- 
flicting on  this  dearest  of  all  her  friends,  who  sought  so  anxious- 
ly and  yet  so  vainly  to  conceal  the  wound.     She  reasoned  calmly 


CHALLENGED.  299 

enough,  perhaps ;  but  her  heart  was  beginning  to  beat  fast ;  and 
all  the  high,  impulsive,  proud  spirit  of  the  girl  was  rising  to  the 
firm  lips  and  the  pale  face.  She  stood  still  now  and  listened ; 
there  was  no  one  to  interrupt  her  self -communings.  And  this 
was  the  question  she  asked  herself — not  audibly,  but  so  that  her 
beating  heart  could  hear  : 

"  In  the  old  time,  when  you  were  careless  and  happy,  you  ask- 
<ed  yourself  whether  you  could  die  for  the  man  that  you  loved ; 
and  you  were  very  proud  to  answer  Yes.  You  were  very  sure 
then  you  could  do  it.  And  now,  if  the  same  question  is  asked, 
what  will  you  say?  Will  you  meanly  retreat  from  it?  If  noth- 
ing will  do  but  getting  out  of  the  world  altogether — so  that  the 
old  glad  light  will  come  back  to  his  eyes  in  time,  after  he  has 
forgotten  all  about  you  —  can  you  show  to  yourself  what  your 
love  is  worth  by  doing  that  ?" 

She  was  not  so  calm  now.  The  beautiful  dark  eyes  were  full 
of  a  strange  agony ;  she  was  breathing  quickly ;  her  face  was 
paler  than  the  moonlight  itself. 

That  was  the  question  she  asked  herself;  what  was  the  answer? 

No  man,  woman,  or  set  of  circumstances  ever  confronted  this 
girl  with  a  challenge,  and  found  her  turn  aside  from  it :  that  was 
not  possible  to  her.  The  answer  to  the  question  was  written  in 
the  firm  lips  and  the  wild,  white  face. 

After  all,  what  was  this  sacrifice  that  was  demanded  of  her? 
The  book  of  life,  so  far  as  she  could  read  it  in  her  bewilder- 
ment and  despair,  was  to  her  only  a  record  of  disappointment  on 
disappointment,  of  regret,  and  lamentation,  and  grief.  She  had 
had  no  kindly-cared-for  youth ;  and  now  her  womanhood,  as  she 
was  about  to  enter  upon  it,  and  as  the  fascination  of  it  glimmer- 
ed before  her  like  a  beautiful  vision,  had  been  suddenly  shut  off 
in  darkness,  and  she  was  left  with  only  the  bitter  memory  of 
what  might  have  been. 

She  heard  steps  behind  her,  and  turned  quickly.  She  found 
Mrs.  Warrener,  with  some  light  shawl  thrown  round  her  head, 
coming  toward  her. 

"Violet,  what  do  you  mean  by  running  away  like  this?  I 
felt  sure  you  had  gone  up  among  the  hills  by  yourself." 

The  reply  was  a  strange  one.  The  girl  took  her  friend's  head 
between  her  hands  and  kissed  her  gently,  and  looked  wistfully 
and  earnestly  into  her  eyes. 


300  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  If  I  have  annoyed  you  at  any  time,"  she  said,  "  and  if  you 
think  of  it  afterward,  you  will  believe  that  I  never  did  mean  it, 
and  that  I  was  very  sorry.  You  will  promise  me  that ;  and  if  I 
have  done  harm  to  any  one  in  your  house,  you  will  ask  them  to 
forgive  me,  and  forget  it  when  they  can." 

The  gentle  little  woman  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Violet,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  she  cried,  with  a  strange  ap- 
prehension in  her  breast.  "  Why  are  you  crying  ?  What  is  the 
matter  with  you,  that  you  are  so  pale  ?" 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  the  girl.  "  We  will  go  back  to  the 
house." 

They  walked  down  the  road  in  the  moonlight,  both  silent;  for 
Mrs.  Warrener  was  beset  by  vague  fears,  and  she  was  afraid  to 
question  the  girl  too  closely  just  then.  When  they  had  entered 
the  house,  Violet  escaped  to  her  own  room,  for  it  was  now  late. 
She  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  window — looking  out  on  the  black 
hills,  and  on  the  trees,  and  on  the  small  patches  of  oats,  that  the 
moonlight  made  of  a  silvery  gray — and  she  was  holding  her  hand 
tightly  over  her  heart. 

"Don't  break  yet" — this  is  what  she  would  have  said,  had  her 
wild,  despairing  fancies  been  translated  into  words — "  don't  break 
just  yet,  until  I  have  made  my  friends  happy.  Then  you  can  do 
with  me — what  you  like  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

FAREWELL  !    FAREWELL  !" 


Perhaps  she  did  not  quite  know  how  it  had  all  come  about; 
how,  in  the  midst  of  the  trivialities  of  ordinary  life  and  the  dis- 
tractions of  a  holiday  trip,  this  tragic  doom  had  overtaken  her 
with  swift,  inevitable  strides ;  but,  captive  as  she  was,  and  not  a 
little  bewildered  by  that  sore  aching  of  the  heart,  she  nerved  her- 
self at  this  moment  to  act  and  think  with  promptitude  and  de- 
cision. And,  indeed,  although  there  was  much  of  impulsive  ro- 
manticism in  the  girl,  there  wras  a  good  deal  of  plain  common 
sense  too;  and  she  had  a  keen  sense  of  honor.  When,  in  that 
breathless,  wild  way,  she  determined  to  free  those  who  were  dear- 


"farewell!  farewell!"  301 

est  to  her — and  especially  him  whom  she  regarded  with  all  the 
generous,  self-sacrificing  ardor  of  a  girl's  first  love — from  the  pain 
and  unrest  of  which  she  knew  she  was  the  cause,  the  idea  of  sui- 
cide did  not  even  occur  to  her.  Her  quick  pride  would  have  in- 
stantly rejected  what  she  held  to  be  mean  and  cowardly.  But 
how  otherwise  was  she  to  accomplish  that  which  she  had  now  set 
her  heart  upon  ? 

One  evening,  in  former  and  happier  days,  James  Drummond 
had  amused  his  small  domestic  circle  with  a  description  of  a 
strange  land.  It  was  a  land  distant  and  unnamed,  far  across  the 
seas,  to  which  had  fled  all  those  people  who  have  mysteriously 
disappeared  from  among  us  —  absconding  merchants  who  have 
left  their  coats  and  hats  on  the  bank  of  a  river ;  young  men  en- 
tangled in  a  love-affair  who  have  gone  up  a  Welsh  mountain  and 
apparently  never  come  down  again  ;  people  supposed  to  have  per- 
ished by  shipwreck  ;  married  soldiers  who  have  taken  the  opportu- 
nity of  a  great  battle  to  escape  from  conjugal  squabbles ;  and  so 
forth,  and  so  forth.  In  his  idle,  fanciful,  desultory  way,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond went  on  to  describe  this  mysterious  land,  this  earthly  para- 
dise, where  the  debtor  walked  about  free  from  his  debts ;  where 
the  young  man  no  longer  feared  an  action  for  breach  of  promise  ; 
where  the  "  missing  "  soldier  found  peace  at  last.  It  was  but  a 
passing  plaything ;  probably  next  day  he  could  not  have  told  that 
he  had  ever  mentioned  such  a  subject.  But  there  Avas  one  present 
on  that  evening  who  put  a  higher  value  on  Mr.  Drummond's  fan- 
cies and  speculations  than  he  did  himself.  Idle  words  sunk  deep 
into  her  heart ;  for  they  were  the  utterances  of  the  man  she  loved. 

And  now  it  occurred  to  Violet  North  that  she  could  do  no  bet- 
ter than  go  away  to  this  unknown  land  across  the  seas ;  and  when 
her  friends  had  got  over  the  temporary  pain  of  believing  her  to 
have  been  drowned,  they  would  soon  forget ;  and  he  whom  she 
most  considered  would  regain  that  old  bright  cheerfulness  of  dis- 
position that  she  remembered  in  the  by-gone  time.  "What  could 
be  more  simple  ?     And  yet  she  did  not  sleep  much  that  night. 

Early  in  the  morning  she  arose,  and  dressed  herself  noiselessly. 
For  a  brief  instant  she  had  gone  to  the  window,  and  she  shudder- 
ed as  she  looked  out  on  the  gloom  of  the  sleeping  world.  For 
the  sea  lay  like  a  lake  of  ink  all  around  the  dark-green  shores ; 
and  the  mountains  of  Mull  were  of  a  sombre  purple  akin  to  black  ; 
and  the  distant  sky  was  dark  with  low  and  threatening  swathos 


302  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

of  cloud.  Overhead,  it  is  true,  the  heavy  grays  of  the  dawn  were 
mottled  here  and  there  with  tinges  of  crimson ;  but  it  was  an  an- 
gry and  ominous  conjunction,  and  she  shivered  as  she  turned 
away. 

She  stole  quietly  into  the  small  chamber  where  Amy  Warrener 
lay  asleep,  and  she  but  half  awoke  her  girl-companion  and  friend. 

"Are  you  going  for  a  bathe,  Violet?"  said  she,  noticing  the  bag 
that  the  other  had  in  her  hand. 

"  I  came  in  to  say  you  had  better  not  come  with  me  this  morn- 
ing, Amy,"  said  she,  in  a  calm  voice.  "  It  is  gloomy  and  cold ; 
and  I  think  it  will  rain." 

"  Then  why  do  you  go  ?" 

"  I  must  go,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  have  been  out  of  sorts 
lately ;  I  want  something  to  waken  me  up.  Now  go  to  sleep, 
Amy." 

For  a  second  she  stood  irresolute.  She  Avould  have  given 
worlds  to  have  touched  her  friend's  hand,  to  have  kissed  her,  and 
said  good-bye,  as  a  token  of  her  farewell  to  all  the  household ; 
but  she  did  not  dare  to  do  that.  She  closed  the  door  gently 
behind  her  and  went  down -stairs.  In  another  minute  she  was 
outside. 

And  now,  far  more  awful  than  the  gloom  that  lay  over  land 
and  sea — over  the  dark  mountains,  and  the  woods,  and  the  sullen 
waters  that  lapped  along  the  desolate  shore — was  the  silence  of 
this  dead  world.  Not  a  bird  seemed  to  be  stirring  yet.  The  si- 
lence was  absolute  but  for  the  whispering  of  the  cold  gray  leaves 
of  some  willow-bushes  that  the  wind  of  the  morning  stirred. 

With  her  heart  beating  quick,  she  walked  down  the  slope  and 
along  the  valley  toward  the  sea.  She  had  no  sense  of  injury  to 
sustain  her  in  what  she  was  doing.  If  she  had  suffered  any 
wrong  at  the  hands  of  those  whom  she  was  leaving  forever,  her 
pride  would  have  come  to  the  rescue.  Wrong?  She  turned  at 
the  foot  of  the  valley,  and  looked  back  to  the  small  white  cottage 
on  the  hill  that  held  all  that  she  cared  for  upon  earth ;  but  her 
eyes  could  not  see  much,  for  she  was  crying  bitterly.  And  all 
that  was  in  her  heart  then  was  a  prayer  that  the  peace  of  Heaven 
might  descend  and  rest  upon  that  household ;  and  that  her  well- 
beloved  might  never  know  with  what  an  agony  of  grief  she  was 
now  bidding  him  and  his  a  last  good-bye. 

Then   she  turned  again,  and  made  her  way  toward  the  sea. 


"farewell!  farewell!"  303 

And,  as  she  was  but  dimly  aware — for  her  mind  was  full  of  des- 
olation— across  the  gloomy  picture  of  the  dawn  the  stealthy  fin- 
gers of  the  rain  began  to  creep,  coldly  and  silently  removing 
mountain  after  mountain,  and  leaving  in  their  place  a  cloud  of 
dismal  gray.  A  chilling  wind  came  blowing  in  from  the  sea;  a 
cold,  stinging  drop  or  two  of  rain  touched  her  face ;  the  islands 
out  there  began  to  grow  misty  and  remote;  and  then  a  slow  fine 
drizzle  began  to  make  the  ferns  by  the  roadside  droop,  and  the 
grass  and  weeds  wetter  than  ever.  She  walked  on  blindly ;  per- 
haps it  was  the  cold  that  made  her  seem  to  shiver  from  time  to 
time. 

At  length  she  got  down  to  a  part  of  the  coast  where  a  bold 
and  rocky  promontory,  partly  covered  by  trees,  went  out  into  the 
sea,  sheltering  from  the  violence  of  the  waves  a  small  bay  of  tine 
sand.  At  the  corner,  where  the  sand  met  the  black  rocks,  stood 
a  small  bathing-machine.  There  was  not  a  human  being  to  be 
descried  anywhere  at  this  early  hour  of  the  morning. 

She  went  along  the  seaward  edge  of  the  rocks,  and  sat  down, 
completely  hidden  from  view  by  the  trees.  She  took  off  her  hat, 
and  put  on  instead  a  bonnet  to  which  was  attached  a  thick  veil. 
Then  she  sat  motionless,  thinking. 

Of  what  did  she  think  then — if  that  could  be  called  thinking 
that  was  but  a  wild,  bewildered  groping  in  the  blackness  of  de- 
spair ?  Of  the  days  long  ago,  when  the  wild  school-girl  was  full 
of  an  audacious  life  and  gayety  ?  or  of  the  quiet  and  pleasant 
evenings  that  she  used  to  spend  in  that  simple,  beautiful,  un- 
worldly household,  where  all  good  and  noble  things  were  rever- 
enced, and  the  mean  and  base  had  no  existence  ?  or  of  the  dawn- 
ing of  that  wonderful  hope  that  for  a  brief  time  had  added  a 
strange  glow  and  color  to  her  life?  If  she  saw  these  beautiful 
pictures,  it  was  as  through  a  darkened  glass.  Her  mind  was 
overshadowed.     She  was  almost  as  one  that  was  dead. 

Some  mechanical  instinct  made  her  think  of  the  time.  She 
looked  at  her  watch.  The  great  steamer,  coming  down  from  the 
Hebrides,  and  bound  for  Glasgow  by  way  of  the  Mull,  was  due  in 
an  hour;  and  she  had  nearly  three  miles  to  walk  to  the  pier. 
She  rose. 

Her  funeral  service  was  simple.  She  merely  placed  the  small 
bag  she  carried  on  the  rocks,  close  to  the  edge,  so  that  they  might 
imagine  she  dropped  it  there  when  she  slipped  and  fell  over,  and 


304  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

then  she  threw  her  hat  into  the  sea.  She  watched  it  float ;  the 
dark  current  was  running  strong ;  would  they  seek  for  her  body 
far  over  there  by  the  gloomy  shores  of  Lismore  and  Morven  ? 

She  pulled  the  thick  veil  down  over  her  face ;  and  then  she 
set  out  to  walk  to  the  quay — in  the  slow  drizzle  of  the  rain.  She 
had  now  assumed  a  more  courageous  gait ;  she  was  resolved  to 
bear  herself  bravely,  now  that  she  had  to  face  the  world  for  her- 
self ;  in  a  pathetic,  bewildered  way,  she  even  tried  to  look  at  the 
merry  side  of  the  whole  business,  and  wondered  what  the  people 
in  the  steamer  would  say  if  they  knew  they  had  a  dead  woman 
on  board.  To  aid  this  enforcement  of  courage,  she  tried  to  hum 
a  cheerful  air ;  but  she  quite  broke  down  in  that ;  for  right  in 
the  middle  of  it  she  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  white 
cottage,  far  up  the  valley,  in  the  midst  of  the  grays  and  greens 
of  the  hills,  and  the  merry  song  ended  in  a  choking  sensation  of 
the  throat.  She  turned  away  her  head,  and  would  look  no  more 
in  that  direction. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  bustle  about  the  pier,  for  the  big 
steamer  from  the  North  was  just  coming  in,  and  there  were  cattle 
and  goods  to  be  landed.  In  the  general  confusion  she  would 
easily  have  escaped  recognition,  even  if  any  of  the  people  about 
had  happened  to  know  her ;  but  in  any  case  she  only  remained  a 
minute  or  two  on  the  quay,  for  as  soon  as  the  Clansman  came  in 
she  went  on  board  and  got  below,  where  she  remained  during  the 
whole  time  the  steamer  was  unloading  and  loading  again.  She 
was  quite  alone  in  the  large  cabin :  few  people  coming  from  the 
North  care  to  go  round  the  Mull  of  Cantyre  when  they  have  the 
option  of  cutting  through  the  Crinan  Canal.  She  sat  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  cabin,  in  the  twilight,  closely  veiled ;  and  it  was  not 
until  she  felt  the  vessel  begin  to  throb  with  the  action  of  the 
screw  that  she  ventured  up  on  deck.  The  Clansman  was  just 
putting  off  from  the  pier. 

Was  there  not  time  to  undo  what  she  had  done  ?  As  the 
steamer  backed,  she  saw  that  she  could  easily  spring  on  to  the 
edge  of  the  quay;  and  for  a  second  she  found  herself  almost 
driven  to  this  leap,  the  despair  of  her  isolation  getting  the  mas- 
tery over  her.  But  she  held  on  firmly  to  an  iron  railing  beside 
her.  In  another  second  the  Clansman  had  got  clear  away  from 
the  pier,  and  was  churning  her  way  out  to  sea. 

That  dreadful  morning  seemed  to  consist  of  years.     Was  it  not 


"  FAREWELL  !    FAREWELL  !"  305 

years  since — in  the  half-forgotten  long-ago — that  she  had  looked 
up  with  a  vague  terror  to  the  mottled  gray  and  crimson  of  the 
sky,  and  shuddered  at  the  awful  silence  of  the  world  ?  How  long 
ago  was  it  she  had  sat  on  the  rocks,  and  pictured  to  herself  her 
friends  coining  down  to  seek  for  her,  and  finding  her  hag  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  precipice,  where,  as  they  would  imagine,  she  had 
dropped  it  as  she  stumbled  and  fell  into  the  depths  below  ?  Then 
the  sad,  despairing  walk  along  the  wet  ways,  in  the  silence  of  the 
morning.  Now  she  was  surrounded  by  the  noise  of  many  people 
talking  in  a  strange  tongue ;  and  it  all  seemed  a  wild  dream  to 
her.  She  was  not  crying  now.  She  was  thinking,  in  a  dull  and 
confused  way,  of  all  manner  of  ordinary  things — of  the  indiffer- 
ence of  these  poor  Highland  people  to  the  rain ;  of  the  cattle  on 
board  ;  of  the  discomfort  of  traveling  at  night  by  rail  from 
Greenock  to  London ;  of  the  two  five-pound  notes  and  the  two 
sovereigns  she  had  in  her  purse.  The  people  about  her  were  very 
busy  with  their  own  affairs,  or  they  might  have  wondered  why 
this  tall  girl,  Avrapped  up  in  her  water-proof  and  veil,  stood  there 
as  motionless  as  a  statue,  gazing  blankly  at  the  coast  they  were 
leaving  behind. 

But  by -and -by  she  became  strangely  agitated;  for  as  the 
steamer  got  farther  away  from  the  land,  she  came  in  view  of  the 
valley  at  the  head  of  which  stood  Castle  Bandbox  ;  and  she  ought 
to  have  been  able  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  white  cottage  on  the 
hill,  but  she  could  not,  for  it  was  hidden  behind  the  gray  mists 
of  the  rain.  And  then  it  seemed  to  her  that  now  at  last  her  only 
friends  were  lost  to  her  for  ever  and  ever ;  and  still  her  heart- 
strings clung  to  that  wild  shore  and  the  misty  valley  until  she 
thought  they  would  break.  The  bitter  agony  of  parting  from  all 
that  she  cared  to  know  and  see  seemed  worse  to  her  than  death 
itself;  she  would  have  welcomed  with  a  glad  joy  a  real  death 
rather  than  the  living  death  which  now  lay  before  her  in  her  way 
through  the  world. 

"Far  away — in  the  beautiful  meadows  —  is  the  house  of  my 
home.  Many  a  time  I  went  out  from  it  into  the  valley  —  O 
you  beautiful  valley!  I  greet  you  a  thousand  times.  Farewell, 
farewell !" 

The  echoes  came  to  her  from  out  of  the  half-forgotten  past; 
they  spoke  of  a  time  when  such  temporary  partings  were  the 
sweetest  pleasure  compared  to  the  bitterness  she  was  now  endur- 


300  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

ing.  How  yearningly  the  girl's  heart  clung  to  that  fast-receding 
land !  The  world  around  her  seemed  to  know  she  was  leaving 
home,  friends,  and  the  one  beautiful,  glad  hope  that  for  a  time 
had  brightened  her  life ;  and  that  she  was  leaving  them  forever. 
Far  over  there,  the  long  lines  of  hills  seemed  themselves  clouded 
over  with  the  darkness  of  grief  ;  and  the  gray  mists  were  weeping, 
remote  and  in  silence ;  and  the  very  winds  of  heaven,  blowing 
coldly  about  her,  had  but  that  one  sad  refrain — "  Farewell,  Fare- 
well !"  Then  the  coast  disappeared  altogether  behind  the  mists 
of  the  rain ;  and  she  turned  to  the  restless  gray  -  green  sea  that 
was  rushing  by — the  sea  that  in  a  short  while  her  friends  would 
be  regarding  as  her  nameless  grave ;  and  in  her  heart  she  prayed 
to  God  that  as  soon  as  may  be  the  burden  of  life  might  be  taken 
from  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN    LONDON. 


Damp  and  windy  as  was  Euston  Station  on  this  wet  and  mild 
September  morning,  it  was  nevertheless  a  welcome  relief  from  the 
close  carriage  in  which  she  had  slept  but  little  during  the  night. 
She  was  glad  to  breathe  the  fresher  air.  She  looked  around  with 
some  surprise — for  town  .sights  were  as  yet  unfamiliar  to  her — as 
she  walked  along  toward  the  gate. 

"  Cab,  miss  ?" 

She  wondered  what  a  dead  woman  could  want  with  a  cab,  and 
passed  on. 

But  she  was  not  blindly  and  heedlessly  walking  alone  in  the 
world  of  London.  All  the  long  night  she  had  pondered  over 
what  she  should  do,  and  her  high  courage  stood  her  in  good 
stead.  So  far  as  might  be,  she  had  laid  down  shrewd,  practical 
plans.  She  knew  very  well,  for  example,  that  with  £9  10s.  in  her 
pocket  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  set  out  for  that  distant  trans- 
atlantic region,  where  the  mysteriously  dead  come  to  life  again  : 
she  would  have  to  remain  in  London,  and  support  herself,  and 
save  money  for  the  long  voyage.  Before  getting  a  situation,  she 
would  have  to  get  lodgings ;  before  looking  about  for  proper 
lodgings,  she  would  have  to  go  to  a  hotel ;  before  going  to  a  ho- 


IN    LONDON.  307 

tel,  she  would  have  to  provide  herself  with  some  luggage,  for  the 
sake  of  appearances.  It  was  well  that  she  had  all  these  things  to 
think  about  just  at  this  time. 

A  curious  fancy  took  possession  of  her  that  she  would  like  to 
have  a  look  at  her  former  home ;  and  there  was  little  risk  in  do- 
ing so,  for  she  was  deeply  veiled,  and,  besides,  it  was  the  family 
breakfast  hour. 

"  They  don't  know  yet  I  am  dead,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  or  I 
might  appear  at  the  window  and  give  Anatolia  a  fright." 

She  was  turning  the  corner  of  the  railings,  when  she  was  near- 
ly knocked  down  by  a  tall,  white-bearded  man  who  was  pushing  by 
in  a  great  hurry.  He  just  avoided  a  collision  ;  muttered,  "  I  beg 
your  pardon — I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  hastened  on  without  no- 
ticing her. 

But  she  had  caught  one  swift  glimpse  of  this  man's  face,  and 
that  was  full  of  anxious  pain. 

She  looked  after  him  with  a  secret  fear.  Had  he  just  got  a 
telegram,  then  ?  Was  he  about  to  start  for  Scotland  by  the  day- 
mail  ?  Or  had  he  just  got  a  letter  describing  the  unavailing  search 
along  the  shore  for  the  body  of  his  daughter,  and  was  he  about 
to  telegraph  a  reply  ?  The  bewilderment  of  trouble  in  her  father's 
face  touched  her  deeply,  and  she  would  fain  have  rushed  after 
him,  and  confessed ;  but  she  hardened  herself  and  remained  firm. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  poor  papa,"  she  was  thinking  to  herself, 
as  she  stood  and  looked  after  the  retreating  figure,  "  and  for  them, 
too  ;  for  you  will  all  be  pained  for  a  little  while.  But  in  the  end 
it  will  be  better.  In  a  year  or  two  you  will  all  be  happier,  and 
by  that  time  you  will  have  forgotten  all  that  was  bad  about  me  ; 
and  if  you  think  of  me  at  all,  it  will  be  a  kindly  sort  of  thinking." 

So  she  walked  on,  assuring  herself  that  she  had  done  right ; 
though  her  mind  was  still  filled  by  the  picture  of  that  man  hurry- 
ing by  with  a  wild  grief  in  his  face. 

In  Tottenham  Court  Road  she  purchased  a  large  and  heavy 
portmanteau,  which  further  crippled  her  finances,  but  she  reasoned 
with  herself  that  a  light  portmanteau  would  provoke  suspicion  at 
the  hotel ;  while,  when  she  set  sail  for  the  mysterious  region,  a 
formidable  portmanteau  such  as  she  had  bought  would  come  in 
handy.  Having  thus  equipped  herself  with  luggage,  she  got  a 
four-wheeled  cab,  and  bid  the  driver  drive  to  a  certain  small  and 
semi-private  hotel  in  Great  Portland  Street.     She  had  been  there 


308  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

once  with  her  father  to  visit  some  Canadian  friends,  and  had  been 
struck  by  the  smiling  and  roseate  face  of  the  landlady. 

The  buxom  dame,  with  her  ruddy  cheeks  and  her  black  curls, 
was  standing  in  the  hall  when  she  entered.  There  was  no  great 
embarrassment  about  the  tall  and  shapely  young  lady,  who  ex- 
plained that  she  wanted  a  room  for  two  or  three  days,  until  she 
could  provide  herself  with  lodgings ;  but  for  a  moment  she  quail- 
ed, for  the  landlady  regarded  her  with  a  puzzled  expression,  as  if 
she  half  remembered  the  face.  However,  as  Violet  instantaneous- 
ly recollected,  she  could  not  possibly  know  her  name  ;  and  indeed 
the  landlady  dismissed  the  effort  at  recognition,  and  bid  the  hall- 
porter  carry  the  young  lady's  luggage  up  to  a  particular  room. 
The  young  lady  asked  if  she  might  have  some  tea  and  dry  toast 
sent  up  to  her ;  her  experiences  in  Canada  perhaps  accounting  for 
the  business-like  air  which  she  wore. 

When  she  was  quite  alone  she  sat  down  and  began  to  think. 
It  was  very  terrible,  this  sensation  of  being  in  a  strange  house, 
among  strange  people,  all  by  herself.  If  she  felt  like  this  already, 
how  would  she  be  able  to  reach  that  distant  country  in  which  she 
was  to  remain  hidden  for  the  rest  of  her  life?  Or  was  this  only 
the  first  plunge  that  affected  her  so  ? 

A  tap  at  the  door  made  her  heart  jump ;  it  was  only  a  maid- 
servant with  a  small  tray.  Before  she  went  again,  the  girl  said, 
with  a  sudden  impulse, 

"  Would  you  ask  the  landlady  if  she  would  kindly  step  up  for 
a  moment  ?" 

The  roseate  face  was  a  friendly  face ;  the  fat  woman  had  re- 
garded this  girl  with  a  friendly  look  of  interest.  And  nowr — with 
a  womanly  seeking  for  sympathy — she  would  tell  all  of  her  story 
that  needed  to  be  told  ;  and  she  would  ask  for  advice,  which  she 
knew  that  comfortable-looking  dame  would  not  refuse. 

Mrs.  Roberts  came  up-stairs,  a  little  out  of  breath.  She  begged 
to  be  excused  for  taking  a  chair  when  she  entered  the  room ; 
Violet  besought  her  to  remain  seated,  as  she  wished  to  say  some- 
thing to  her.  Mrs.  Roberts's  round  black  eyes  seemed  to  grow 
bigger  and  blacker  with  surprise  when  she  heard  how  this  beauti- 
ful young  lady,  with  her  refined  ways,  and  her  distinguished  car- 
riage, and  fashionable  traveling-dress,  was  suddenly  compelled  to 
earn  her  own  living,  and  was  anxious  to  obtain  any  employment 
by  which  she  could  fairly  support  herself.     Mrs.  Roberts,  indeed, 


IN    LONDON.  309 

was  a  little  puzzled.  She  could  not  get  over  the  impression  that 
this  young  lady  was  a  very  superior  person  ;  and  that  to  talk  of 
her  becoming  a  governess,  or  lady's  maid,  or  any  thing  of  that 
sort,  was,  on  the  face  of  it,  ludicrous.  But  when  Miss  Violet, 
presuming  on  the  evident  interest  which  the  good  woman  show- 
ed, asked  her  if  she  had  any  notion  what  wages  the  girls  in  the 
telegraph-offices  got,  then  Mrs.  Roberts  began  to  believe  that  she 
was  in  earnest,  and  that  one  of  those  catastrophes  which  too  fre- 
quently bring  down  superior  persons  to  the  most  absolute  pover- 
ty had  thrown  this  distinguished-looking  young  lady  in  a  measure 
under  her  protection.  The  curious  thing  was  that  she,  as  a  land- 
lady, and  having  the  instincts  and  experiences  of  a  landlady,  nev- 
er suspected  Miss  Violet  North  of  being  a  professional  swindler. 
All  the  outward  circumstances  of  the  case  suggested  that  con- 
clusion, and  it  may  be  said  that  of  the  various  employments 
mentioned  by  Miss  North  there  was  none  for  which  nature  had 
so  thoroughly  fitted  her  as  that  of  professional  swindling;  for 
she  had  a  face  and  manner  that  instantly  inspired  confidence. 
This  Mrs.  Roberts,  for  example,  looked  at  the  girl's  eyes,  and  heard 
her  voice ;  and  she  was  satisfied.  She  would  have  left  her  in 
charge  of  all  the  silver  in  the  house. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  said  that  if  she  had  possessed  the  internal 
nature  of  a  professional  swindler,  she  would  have  lost  this  can- 
dor, and  sweetness,  and  innocence  which  externally  inspired  con- 
fidence. But  this  is  a  dangerous  theory.  I  remember  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  giving  us  a  long  lecture  one  evening  after  dinner,  when  the 
ladies  had  left,  about  a  photograph  some  one  showed  him  of  a 
notorious  woman  who  was  then  being  talked  of  all  over  England. 
The  puzzle  was  how  this  woman  had  the  simple  innocence  and 
sweetness  of  a  girl  of  sixteen  written  in  every  lineament  of  her 
face,  and  shining  in  the  amiability  of  her  eyes.  He  declared  it 
was  no  puzzle  at  all.  He  insisted  that  there  Avere  human  beings 
so  utterly  lacking  the  moral  sense  that  in  the  worst  deeps  of 
wickedness  they  preserved  the  innocence  of  ignorance.  They 
were  not  depraved  ;  they  never  had  any  thing  to  deprave.  This 
girl,  he  declared,  as  she  sat  down  before  the  photographer,  know- 
ing that  her  portrait  would  be  exhibited  in  every  stationer's  win- 
dow, had  no  more  sense  of  shame  than  a  beast  of  the  field. 
Look  at  the  sparrow,  said  he,  that  does  not  think  it  mean  or 
contemptible  to  filch  from  another  sparrow  a  piece  of  bread  law- 


310  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

fully  the  property  of  the  latter ;  are  there  not  women  -who  have 
as  simple  a  disregard  for  the  other  commandments  as  the  spar- 
row has  for  the  eighth  ?  But  this  is  getting  too  far  afield  ;  and 
we  must  return  to  the  huxom  landlady  and  her  new  protegee. 

"  Well,  Miss " 

"  Main,"  said  Violet,  at  a  venture. 

"  Miss  Main,  if  you  really  do  want  some  employment  of  that 
kind,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  what  I  can  to  help  you ;  though  it  is 
not  easy  nowadays,  for  all  the  young  girls  are  too  proud  to  be- 
come housemaids ;  they  must  educate  themselves,  and  give  them- 
selves airs,  and  become  assistants,  and  clerks,  and  show-women  in 
shops.  My  brother-in-law  advertised  not  long  ago  for  a  young 
lady —  By-the-way,  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  knew  of  some- 
thing that  would  suit  you.  He  is  a  photographer  in  Regent 
Street.  If  you  like,  I  will  walk  down  with  you  to  his  place  by- 
and-by,  when  I  have  got  affairs  in  order." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  you,"  said  the  girl ;  and,  in- 
deed, this  sudden  stumbling  on  a  good-natured  woman  made  the 
world  seem  better  and  brighter.  "  AYhenever  you  have  a  few 
minutes  to  spare,  I  shall  be  ready.  In  the  mean  time  I  think 
I  will  lie  down,  for  I  am  rather  tired :  I  have  been  traveling  all 
night." 

Mrs.  Roberts  left  with  a  certain  pleased  sense  of  dignity  and 
consequence.  She  was  aiding,  counseling,  patronizing  one  who 
was  distinctly  a  superior  person ;  for  if  this  girl  had  been  of  any 
common  kind,  would  she  not  have  eagerly  refused  to  cause  so 
much  trouble  ?  Whereas,  the  young  lady  accepted  her  good  of- 
fices, with  evident  gratitude,  it  is  true,  but  still  with  a  measure  of 
calmness  which  showed  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
attention.  What  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  have  dark  and  tender  eyes, 
a  proud,  sweet  mouth,  and  the  ingenuous  blush  and  smile  of  twen- 
ty !  If  Violet  North  had  been  less  bountifully  gifted  by  nature, 
she  might  have  found  it  less  easy  to  interest  people  in  her  favor 
on  the  very  first  day  of  her  entrance  into  London. 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  before  these  two  left  the  hotel,  and 
by  this  time  the  streets  had  been  completely  dried  up  by  the 
bright  September  sunshine.  After  the  wet  morning,  crowds  of 
mothers  and  daughters  had  come  out  to  do  their  shopping ;  Ox- 
ford Street  and  Regent  Street  were  full  of  animation.  And  Mrs. 
Roberts  had  attired  herself  somewhat  splendidly  ;  and  was  pleased 


IN    LONDON.  311 

to  walk  with  this  distinguished-looking  young  lady ;  and  said  to 
her,  with  a  smile, 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Main,  people  would  not  imagine  from 
your  dress  that  you  were  inquiring  for  a  situation  where  you  will 
probably  not  get  more  than  fourteen  shillings  a  week  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  get  work,  I  will  get  a  dress  to  suit  it,"  said  the 
girl,  meekly. 

She  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  glare  of  Regent  Street :  there 
was  a  terrible  risk  of  her  running  against  some  of  her  father's 
friends.  She  followed  the  stout  landlady  up  the  gloomy  little 
staircase.  Presently  they  stood  in  a  spacious  chamber  filled  with 
colored  portraits  of  all  sizes ;  and  here  they  found  one  or  two 
people  meekly  awaiting  their  fate,  while  some  one  was  being  op- 
erated on  in  the  surgery  above. 

They  had  to  wait  a  considerable  time,  for  Mr.  Roberts  was  a 
busy  man.  When  at  last  he  did  appear — a  tall,  grave  person, 
with  an  untidy  dress  and  unkempt  hair,  his  hands  black  with  ni- 
trate of  silver  —  he  seemed  rather  to  resent  the  intrusion  of  bis 
roseate  sister-in-law.     But  he  glanced  at  Violet. 

"  I  have  no  vacancy,"  said  he,  in  a  quick,  raucous  voice.  "  I 
fancy  Dowse  has — my  next-door  neighbor — the  furniture  people. 
I  think  he  wants  a  young  woman  —  a  young  lady  —  to  keep  the 
books :  you  can  write  a  clear  hand,  of  course  ?  Write  me  a  few 
lines  at  this  table." 

Violet  was  rather  flurried  by  his  quick,  harsh  way  of  speaking. 

"  I  think  I  can  write  very  well,"  said  she  ;  "  but — but  my  hand 
trembles  just  now — " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  as  the  next  victim  was  asked  to  walk  up-stairs, 
"  you  had  better  go  and  call  on  Mr.  Dowse  yourself.  Excuse  me ; 
this  is  my  busiest  time  in  the  day.  Good-morning :  Sally,  good- 
morning." 

The  blithe  landlady  was  not  discomfited. 

"  We  will  go  in  at  once  and  see  Mr.  Dowse,"  she  said,  with  de- 
cision. 

"  I  am  putting  you  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  said  Violet. 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  afterward,"  she  replied. 

Every  body  has  heard  of  —  and  a  good  many  husbands  know 
to  their  cost — the  firm  of  Dowse  &  Son,  the  great  artists  in  wall- 
papering, makers  of  Gothic  furniture,  carvers  in  wood  and  stone, 
and  workers  in  metal.     They  arc  the  high  -  priests  of  mediaeval 


312  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

forms  and  colors.  They  have  established  a  cultus  in  South  Ken- 
sington ;  all  about  Campden  Hill  their  disciples  cry  aloud  against 
the  gilded  fripperies  of  these  modern  days.  Even  as  you  go  past 
the  gaudy  windows  in  Regent  Street  there  is  one  that  attracts 
you  by  its  mysterious  severity ;  the  eye  is  arrested.  For  the 
regenerators  of  taste  have  not  scrupled  to  employ  the  extreme 
methods  of  their  art  even  in  decorating  their  own  business  prem- 
ises ;  you  must  lay  aside  recollections  of  worldly  vanity  and  vul- 
gar comfort  even  as  you  enter  that  narrow  and  gloomy  corridor 
which  is  painted  a  livid  Egyptian  red.  You  come  to  a  narrow 
door;  the  under  part  is  of  wood,  painted  a  dead  sea-green — the 
upper  part  apparently  consists  of  the  ends  of  glass  bottles,  bars 
of  brass  crossing  the  serai-transparent  panes.  You  enter,  and  are 
overawed.  There  is  no  trifling,  no  flippancy,  in  the  stern,  unyield- 
ing lines,  in  the  massive  forms,  in  the  gloomy  colors.  The  oak 
dado  is  studded  with  hand -painted  tiles;  there  is  an  unpitying 
stare  in  the  eyes  of  the  falcon,  and  the  leaves  of  that  bit  of  apple- 
blossom  will  last  for  ever  and  ever.  There  is  something  severer 
than  sadness  in  the  cold  gray-green  of  the  wall.  Then  the  broad 
frieze  with  its  melancholy  procession  of  figures,  and  its  legend  in 
stiff  gold  letters  below  :  how  can  those  men  and  women  look  happy 
when  the  firmament  above  them — that  is  to  say,  the  roof — is  of  solid 
black  and  green,  with  splashes  of  orange-leaves  instead  of  stars  ? 

Well,  one  must  be  fair  to  Messrs.  Dowse  <fc  Son,  and  their  fel- 
low-workers. They  have  abolished  floral  carpets  ;  they  have  ban- 
ished gilded  plaster ;  they  have  inspired  a  love  of  sound  work- 
manship and  honest  materials.  It  is  true  that  their  theory  of 
utility  being  the  proper  basis  of  all  ornament  is  not  always  car- 
ried out ;  for  they  give  us  windows  that  are  every  thing  that  is 
beautiful,  only  they  don't  let  in  light ;  and  they  give  us  dining- 
room  sideboards  that  would  shudder  if  cold  meat  were  put  on 
them  instead  of  blue  china ;  they  give  us  mirrors  that  only  reflect 
distortions,  and  place  them  so  that  even  these  can  scarcely  be 
seen;  they  give  us  quite  lovely  and  remarkable  fire-places,  the 
most  insignificant  feature  of  which  is  the  fire ;  and,  indeed,  when 
you  have  your  dining-room  finally  furnished,  and  you  ask  some 
people  to  dine  with  you,  you  find,  in  looking  round  the  room, 
that  the  furniture  is  every  thing,  and  the  people  nothing  at  all. 
But  high  art  is  as  Schopenhauer  in  its  contempt  for  the  worthless 
race  of  man. 


IN    LONDON.  313 

Now,  this  Mr.  Dowse  was  a  stout,  middle-sized,  pink-faced,  and 
white-haired  man,  who  had  eyes  at  once  shrewd  and  genial.  In 
business  he  was  both  keen  and  generous ;  his  money  came  to  him 
easily,  and  he  spent  it  lightly ;  he  had  already  made  a  large  fort- 
une for  himself,  and  he  was  not  at  all  slow  to  let  the  artists  and 
artificers  whom  he  employed  share  in  his  prosperity.  He  was  an 
excellent  master ;  he  knew  good  work,  and  would  pay  well  for  it ; 
he  took  good  care  to  be  paid  very  well  for  it  in  turn.  When, 
having  had  some  conversation  with  this  tall  young  lady  (and  be- 
ing quick  to  see  the  artistic  value  of  her  graceful  figure  and  dark 
hair  in  these  premises,  which  he  tried  to  make  as  like  a  private 
house  as  possible),  and  when,  through  some  passing  shyness,  he 
had  turned  from  her  to  Mrs.  Roberts  and  quietly  asked  what  sal- 
ary the  young  lady  required,  and  when  Mrs.  Roberts,  boldly  seiz- 
ing the  occasion,  said  a  guinea  a  week,  he  assented  at  once.  If 
she  had  said  two  guineas,  he  would  have  assented  at  once.  He 
was  almost  carelessly  liberal  in  such  matters ;  partly  because  he 
made  other  people  pay  for  his  extravagance.  So  it  was  under- 
stood that  Violet  North  was  to  have  a  week's  trial  in  this  Gothic 
furniture  place;  and  she  was  given  an  elaborate  illustrated  cata- 
logue that  she  might  take  home  with  her  and  become  acquainted 
with  its  technical  terms. 

Then  as  to  lodgings,  Mrs.  Roberts  was  good  enough  to  provide 
her  with  these  also.  Miss  North,  or  rather  Miss  Main,  explained 
that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  save  as  much  as  ever  she  could 
out  of  that  guinea  a  week,  and  that  a  single  small  room  would  be 
quite  enough  for  her :  she  would  be  at  work  all  day,  and  could 
dispense  with  a  sitting-room  at  night. 

"I  wonder  when  they  shut  up  that  place  in  the  evening?"  she 
said. 

Mrs.  Roberts  did  not  know ;  but  pointed  out  that  that  was  not 
the  sort  of  a  place  to  expect  late  customers. 

"  Oh,  but  I  hope  they  will  keep  open  very  late,"  said  Miss 
Main. 

«  Why  ?" 

"Because  I  shall  have  less  time  to  sit  by  myself  after  getting 
home." 

"But,"  said  the  landlady,  with  some  surprise,  "have  you  no 
friends  or  acquaintances  at  all  ?  Not  a  single  person  to  go  to  see 
of  an  evening  ?" 

14 


314  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Main,  with  a  smile,  "  I  will  come  and  see  you 
sometimes,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"There  is  no  one  else?" 

"  Not  any  one.  My  friends  are  in  Scotland.  I  suppose  there 
is  some  stationer's  shop  about  here  where  they  lend  you  books?" 

The  room  that  the  girl  eventually  rented  was  in  a  house  in 
Great  Titchfield  Street :  she  said  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for 
her  to  live  near  Regent  Street.  And  if  Mrs.  Roberts  had  happen- 
ed to  follow  her  protegee  any  morning  as  she  went  down  to  Mr. 
Dowse's  warehouse,  she  would  have  observed  that  Miss  Main,  al- 
ways deeply  veiled,  never  walked  along  Oxford  Street  and  down 
Regent  Street,  but  invariably  went  down  through  the  narrow  little 
streets  lying  behind  Regent  Street,  and  then  got  into  that  thor 
oughfare  close  by  Mr.  Dowse's  place. 

The  week  passed,  and  Mr.  Dowse  expressed  himself  quite  satis- 
fied. He  even  hoped  that  Miss  Main  found  her  situation  comfort- 
able ;  and  hinted  that  if  there  was  any  alteration  in  hours,  or  any 
thing  of  that  sort,  which  she  might  prefer,  she  would  have  ev- 
ery consideration  shown  her.  Indeed,  her  duties  were  not  very 
severe ;  for  every  article  was  numbered  and  figured  and  priced 
in  the  catalogue,  so  that  she  had  an  unfailing  book  of  reference. 
She  had  a  pretty  little  desk  all  to  herself,  considerably  back  in  the 
premises ;  and  she  could  see  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  came 
in  to  consult  Mr.  Dowse  or  his  son,  and  she  could  hear  them  talk, 
herself  being  unnoticed  in  the  half  twilight.  On  the  other  hand, 
Mr.  Dowse  was  glad  to  get  an  assistant,  who,  besides  being  able 
to  write  clearly  and  well,  never  made  any  mistakes  in  the  spell- 
ing of  Italian  words,  and  put  the  proper  accents  over  her  French. 
Both  father  and  son  became  very  friendly  with  the  young  lady, 
and  insensibly  began  to  draw  her  into  consultations  about  the  col- 
ors of  the  hangings,  and  so  forth,  until  on  some  points  her  opin- 
ion was  invariably  asked.  Once,  indeed,  Mr.  Dowse,  senior,  was 
fairly  surprised  by  some  remark  she  made,  and  he  said  to  her, 

"  I  must  say,  Miss  Main,  that  you  seem  to  know  a  good  deal 
about  a  great  many  things." 

The  girl  cast  her  eyes  down. 

"  I — I  once  lived  with  some  friends,"  she  said,  timidly,  "  who 
knew  every  thing,  I  think ;  and  I  used  to  hear  them  talk." 

"  You  must  have  listened  to  good  purpose,"  said  he,  in  a  kind- 
ly way. 


IN    LONDON.  315 

Well,  it  was  a  sufficiently  monotonous  life  that  the  girl  led  ;  but 
she  reflected,  with  great  gratitude,  that  it  might  have  been  much 
harder  to  bear.  When  she  grew  tired  of  reading  at  night  in  that 
solitary  little  room,  she  used  to  turn  out  the  gas,  and  go  and  sit  at 
the  window.  She  stared  out  at  the  pavements,  and  the  few  pass- 
ers-by, and  the  gas-lamps,  and  the  blazing  windows  of  a  distant 
public-house  ;  but  she  did  not  see  much  of  these  things.  A  dream 
used  to  come  before  her  eyes  ;  and  in  place  of  the  gaunt  buildings 
opposite,  she  saw  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  picture  stretching  out 
before  her.  It  was  twilight  in  the  magical  Northern  land  ;  a  faint 
glow  of  saffron  and  red  dying  out  over  the  mountains  of  Mull ;  a 
clearer  metallic,  greenish-yellow  light  all  over  the  north  ;  and  the 
sea  around  the  islands  shining  in  silver-gray.  And  away  down 
there  in  the  south,  over  the  black  island  of  Kerrara,  the  new  moon 
hung  in  the  violet-hued  heavens,  its  silver  crescent  cut  in  twain  by 
a  flake  of  purple  cloud.  She  could  hear  the  wash  of  the  waves 
around  the  shores. 

Then  she  thought  of  her  friends  there,  especially  of  him  who 
had  been  more  than  any  friend  to  her.  It  might  have  been  ex- 
pected that,  now  she  had  cut  herself  off  forever  from  those  old 
friends  and  old  associations,  and  become  surrounded  by  new  per- 
sons and  new  circumstances,  the  latter  would  dull  the  influence 
of  the  former  over  her.  No  such  thing  was  possible.  That  un- 
seen influence  governed  her ;  it  interpenetrated  her  very  nature. 
Her  love  for  this  man  took  the  form  of  an  idolatrous  reverence 
for  all  that  he  had  taught  her,  for  all  that  she  had  heard  him  say. 
More  than  ever  would  she  have  had  to  confess  to  herself,  as  she 
had  confessed  in  former  days,  "  Thou  art  my  life,  my  love,  my 
heart;  the  very  eyes  of  me."  It  was  through  his  eyes  that  she 
still  saw  the  world  around  her,  however  indifferent  it  had  become 
to  her.  It  used  to  move  her  admiration  to  see  how  that  tall  stu- 
dent of  men  and  manners  seemed  to  be  interested  in  every  thing, 
and  how  he  was  content  to  go  anywhere,  certain  to  be  amused,  if 
not  instructed.  She  could  not  pretend  to  this  keen,  restless  curios- 
ity, for  the  world  had  grown  very  tame  to  her ;  but  her  impres- 
sions of  things  were  as  certainly  molded  by  his  influence  over  her 
as  if  he  had  been  there  to  speak  to  her.  One  night  she  got  tired 
of  sitting  and  staring  out  at  the  empty  streets.  She  relighted  the 
gas,  and  took  out  a  small  note-book  from  her  pocket.  She  would 
try  to  recollect  all  the  things  that  he  had  said  to  her — those  chance 


316  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

reflections  which  he  dropped  from  time  to  time  in  the  careless 
flow  of  his  talk — and  this  would  be  the  only  memento  of  him 
she  would  be  able  to  take  with  her  when  she  left  England  for- 
ever. And  so  the  meek  Boswell  began  to  put  down  these 
lines : 

"  Did  you  ever  try  to  extinguish  a  piece  of  wood  at  night,  and 
find  at  the  end  but  one  red  spark,  a  beautiful  red  eye  that  came 
again  and  again  through  the  black  as  you  struck  at  it  with  the 
poker,  without  feeling  that  you  were  a  murderer,  and  the  destroy- 
er of  a  beautiful  secret  life  ? 

"  The  only  hope  of  posthumous  fame  that  an  ordinary  En- 
glishman has,  is  to  live  in  the  memory  of  his  children  and  other 
relations.  This  is  a  great  moral  safeguard  ;  it  has  the  most  ben- 
eficial influence  during  life. 

"  Every  body  is  vain,  but  some  people  have  the  faculty  of  con- 
cealing their  vanity.  On  the  other  hand,  ought  that  to  be  consid- 
ered a  vice  which  is  a  universal,  ingrained,  inevitable  constituent 
of  human  nature  ?  What  is  the  good  of  protesting  that  the  sky 
ought  to  be  pink? 

"  The  man  who  considers  himself  wholly  independent  of  other 
people — as  owing  nothing  to  them  that  he  can  not  pay — is  a  das- 
tardly repudiator  of  millions  of  debts  of  obligation,  not  one  of 
which  has  been  paid,  or  could  be  paid,  to  the  real  creditor.  All 
his  life-long,  he  has  been  saying  to  person  after  person, '  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you  ;'  and  if  he  were  any  thing  else  than  a  mis- 
erable sneak  he  would  make  of  these  perpetual  small  obligations 
a  general  fund  to  be  drawn  upon  when  occasion  offers.  The  oth- 
er day  a  woman  said  she  would  be  much  obliged  to  me  if  I  bought 
a  box  of  matches  of  her.  I  bought  the  box  of  matches.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  her  being  obliged  to  me  when  I  shall  never  see 
her  again  ?  She  ought  to  pay  off  the  obligation  to  her  husband 
or  to  her  children." 

And  so  she  wrote  on ;  but  how  cold  and  formal  these  things 
looked,  wanting  the  quick  variation  of  tone  and  the  look  of  the 
bright,  observant  eyes !  They  were  but  as  dead  leaves  shaken 
off  from  the  living  tree ;  one  could  scarcely  believe  that  these 
poor  withered  things  had  ever  shone  green  in  the  sunlight. 

As  she  turned  over  page  after  page,  she  came  to  a  scrap  of 


IN    LONDON.  317 

printed  matter,  apparently  cut  out  of  a  newspaper.  It  was  a 
paragraph  describing  a  "  Sad  Occurrence  in  the  Highlands ;"  and 
it  told  how  a  young  lady,  daughter  of  Sir  Acton  North,  the  well- 
known  engineer,  had  been  on  a  visit  to  some  friends  in  the  High- 
lands, and  how,  going  on  a  certain  morning  for  her  accustomed 
bathe  in  the  sea,  she  must  have  stumbled,  fallen  down  the  rocks, 
and  been  drowned,  her  hand-bag  having  been  found  at  the  edge 
of  the  rocks,  and  her  hat  having  been  picked  up  by  some  fisher- 
men a  mile  or  two  farther  along  the  coast. 

"And  not  a  word  in  praise  of  me,"  she  was  thinking  to  her- 
self, as  she  looked  at  the  well  -  worn  bit  of  paper.  "  Just  when 
you  are  recently  dead,  they  generally  say  nice  things  about  you. 
Here  they  don't  even  mention  the  sweetness  of  my  temper,  which 
even  my  friends — particularly  Lady  North — universally  acknowl- 
edged while  I  was  alive.  But  perhaps  they  will  publish  a  mem- 
oir of  me  some  day,  under  the  title  of  '  The  Meek  School-girl ; 
an  Example  for  all  Good  Young  Children.'  " 

She  pushed  the  book  and  the  bit  of  paper  away :  her  eyes  were 
tired,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  sad,  in  spite  of  all  her  joking.  She 
leaned  her  arms  on  the  table,  and  put  down  her  head  on  them, 
and  looked  as  if  she  slept :  that  was  how  she  let  the  spirit  escape 
from  its  prison-house.  London  no  longer  held  her  at  this  mo- 
ment ;  for  she  was  up  at  Isle  Ornsay,  in  the  clear  light  of  the 
summer  days,  and  the  blue  waters  around  her,  and  sweet  airs 
blowing  over  from  the  hills.  That  was  the  beautiful,  shining 
land  where  life  had  seemed  fair  and  lovely  to  her  for  a  brief 
while ;  and  in  this  solitude  of  London,  with  its  hopeless  days  and 
lonely  evenings,  her  sick  heart  yearned  back  toward  that  never- 
to-be-forgotten  time,  and  she  saw  it  again  before  her  as  a  dream. 
Was  not  this  the  Sea-Pyot,  with  her  white  sails  shining  in  the 
sun  ?  Over  there,  at  the  point  of  the  land,  was  the  light-house ; 
presently  they  wrould  go  scudding  by,  to  raise  flocks  of  screaming 
sea-birds  off  the  rocks.  Are  the  guns  on  deck  ? — there  may  be 
curlew  in  the  bay  beyond.  And  see  how  the  green  waves  rush 
by,  breaking  in  masses  of  foam ;  and  how  the  great  sails  strain 
with  the  wind ;  and  how  the  prow  of  the  shapely  little  vessel 
rises  and  breasts  the  swell  of  the  waters.  Whither  away  now  ? — 
still  farther  into  the  far  Northern  solitudes,  full  of  mystery  and 
tenderness,  where  the  air  is  sweet,  and  God  himself  seems  near  in 
the  awful  silence  of  the  mountains  and  the  majesty  of  the  rolling 


318  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

seas.  Enough.  She  rises,  here  in  this  poor  lodging-house  in 
London,  and  her  eyes  are  so  blinded  by  her  tears  that  as  she  looks 
around  her  she  scarce  can  tell  whether  the  beautiful,  pathetic 
dream  has  wholly  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   LAURELS   AT  WOMBLEY   FLAT. 


The  Dowse  family — father,  mother,  and  son — lived  near  Eton, 
the  members  of  the  firm  getting  down  each  evening  in  time  for 
dinner.  If  nothing  but  high  art  was  known  in  their  place  in 
Regent  Street,  nothing  but  middle-class  comfort,  of  a  somewhat 
profuse  order,  reigned  throughout  The  Laurels,  at  Wombley  Flat. 
It  wras  a  large,  irregular,  whitewashed  house,  with  verandas,  plen- 
ty of  conservatories,  French  windows  throwing  in  floods  of  light 
into  the  rooms,  lounging  easy-chairs  of  all  sorts  of  shapes,  old- 
fashioned  grates,  with  hobs  to  them,  and  cigar  -  ash  trays  on  the 
drawing-room  mantel-piece. 

On  Friday  evening  the  Dowses  were,  as  usual,  dining  together. 
Mrs.  Dowse  had  been  a  slim  and  spry  young  burlesque  actress 
when  Mr.  Dowse  married  her  and  carried  her  off  the  stage ;  she 
was  now  a  portly  and  elderly  person,  with  a  comfortable,  com- 
plexionless  face,  and  silvery  gray  hair,  who  dearly  loved  her  mid- 
day lunch  and  its  bottled  stout,  and  who  wore  a  good  deal  of 
jewelry  in  the  evening.  Her  son  was  also  fat  and  pale  of  face, 
parting  his  auburn  hair  in  the  middle,  and  combing  it  down  on 
his  forehead.  He  was  the  member  of  the  firm  who  lent  solemnity 
and  mystery  to  its  transactions.  It  was  he  who  devised  schemes 
of  coloring  for  the  interior  of  a  house ;  and  there  was  a  certain 
vague  earnestness  of  belief  about  him  which  qualified  and  con- 
doned the  shrewd  and  sometimes  jocular  look  of  his  father. 
Dowse  Pere  treated  the  esoteric  talk  of  Dowse  Fils  Avith  great 
respect ;  he  saw  that  other  people  believed  in  those  subtle  laws 
of  tone  and  harmony ;  he  was  content  to  leave  the  whole  ar- 
rangement of  a  house  in  the  hands  of  his  son,  while  he  under- 
took the  not  unprofitable  business  of  furnishing  it  with  high-art 
furniture. 


THE    LAURELS    AT    WOMBLEY    FLAT.  319 

"  Mother,"  said  Mr.  Edward  Dowse,  on  this  particular  evening, 
"  I  had  a  talk  with  Roberts,  the  photographer,  to-day  about  that 
young  lady  we  have  had  with  us  now  for  some  time." 

"  Miss  Main  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  she  seems  to  be  a  greater  mystery  than  ever.  His 
sister-in-law  tells  him  that  the  girl  lives  the  life  of  a  hermit; 
goes  straight  home  every  evening,  and  never  stirs  out ;  spends  her 
time  in  reading  or  writing.  On  the  Sunday  forenoon,  when  every 
body  else  is  at  church,  she  goes  for  a  walk  in  Regent's  Park ;  in 
the  afternoon,  when  every  body  else  is  at  home  or  out  walking, 
she  goes  to  church.     That  is  a  lively  sort  of  life,  isn't  it?" 

"And  what  is  the  mystery,  Teddy?"  asked  Mrs.  Dowse,  with 
just  a  trace  of  Irish  accent. 

"  Why,  it  appears  Mrs.  Roberts  knew  nothing  at  all  about  her 
before  she  brought  her  into  our  place.  Did  you  know  that,  fa- 
ther?" 

Mr.  Dowse  was  at  all  times  disposed  to  take  an  easy,  after-din- 
ner view  of  things ;  and  more  particularly  at  the  present  moment 
was  he  unlikely  to  bother  his  head  about  the  missing  portions  in 
the  history  of  Miss  Main. 

"  Well,  I  didn't,"  said  he.  "  I  imagined  she  was  some  sort  of 
acquaintance.  But  what  does  it  matter?  The  proof  of  a  pud- 
din',  you  know.     Miss  Main  answers  our  purpose  admirably." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  at  all,"  said  Dowse  junior,  with  a  flush 
coming  into  his  pale  face ;  for  did  it  not  appear  that  he  had  been 
suggesting  suspicions  ?  "  I  was  thinking  of  something  quite  dif- 
ferent. Now  just  look  at  the  life  that  girl  is  leading.  It  isn't 
fit  for  a  human  creature.  And  I  don't  believe  she  has  a  friend 
in  London — " 

"  Well,  well  ?"  said  Mr.  Dowse,  dreamily ;  he  was  thinking  of 
having  his  cigar  in  the  drawing-room,  with  Mrs.  Dowse  singing 
her  favorite  old  Irish  songs  to  him. 

"  Well,  mother,  what  do  you  say  to  running  up  to  town  to- 
morrow, and  persuading  the  girl  to  come  down  here  with  you  till 
the  Monday  ?  It  would  be  an  act  of  common  Christian  charity  ; 
and  I  can  assure  you  she  is  a  most  lady-like  girl — " 

"  I'll  do  it,  I  will,  Teddy,  if  ye  like,"  said  she,  readily,  and  she 
looked  at  her  husband. 

Mr.  Dowse  had  frequently  a  quiet  laugh  to  himself  at  his  wife 
and  son,  who  were  really  simple,  good-natured  people,  with  not 


320  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

much  sense  of  humor  in  their  composition ;  but  on  this  occasion 
he  could  not  altogether  keep  silent,  even  in  yielding  to  them. 

"  Let  us  have  a  clear  understanding  about  it,  Teddy,"  said  he. 
"  I  don't  mind  her  coming  here — indeed,  she  deserves  a  holiday, 
for  she  is  the  most  tremendously  conscientious  girl  about  her 
work  I  ever  saw.  That's  all  very  fine,  you  know  ;  but  is  that  the 
whole  of  it?  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  introduce  her  into  the 
firm — Dowse,  Son,  and  Daughter-in-law  ?" 

"And  what's  the  use  of  your  putting  such  nonsense  into  the 
boy's  head  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Dowse ;  but  she  laughed  all  the  time,  for 
she  had  seen  the  handsome  young  lady  many  a  time,  and  if  the 
boy  would  like  to  have  a  pretty  wife,  why  shouldn't  he  ? 

The  young  man,  though  he  blushed  worse  than  ever,  affected 
to  treat  this  suggestion  as  too  ridiculous. 

"  Why,  I  know,"  said  he,  "  that  she  is  engaged  to  some  Scotch- 
man or  other." 

"And  how  did  you  find  that  out,  Teddy  ?"  asked  his  mother. 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  said  he,  though  he  was  not 
a  little  proud  of  his  astuteness.  "  She  is  always  quoting  the  say- 
ings and  opinions  of  some  friends  of  hers  in  Scotland ;  and  you 
can  easily  see  they  are  the  opinions  of  a  man — a  woman  wouldn't 
believe  so  much  in  another  woman.  She  has  no  friends  in  Lon- 
don— he  must  be  a  Scotchman — " 

"  But  how  do  you  know  she  is  engaged  to  him  ?" 

"Well,  can  you  imagine  a  beautiful  girl  like  that  without  a 
sweetheart  ?     Impossible !" 

The  object  of  Dowse  junior  in  asking  this  favor — which  was 
immediately  granted  by  his  indulgent  parents — was  a  mixed  one. 
Doubtless  he  did  feel  some  pity  for  the  girl,  and  knew  that  he 
was  doing  a  friendly  action  in  breaking  in  on  the  monotony  of 
her  life.  But  Edward  Dowse  had  a  number  of  nebulous  ambi- 
tions floating  about  in  his  mind;  the  study  of  the  mysterious 
harmonies  of  colors  was  only  his  outward  and  visible  calling. 
Sometimes  he  dreamed  he  would  be  a  great  painter;  at  other 
times  a  certain  vein  of  poetical  sentiment,  which  he  undoubtedly 
possessed,  enabled  him  to  compose  a  sonnet  or  a  lyric  of  some 
mild  merit.  These  aspirations  never  amounted  to  a  passion ;  he 
was  haunted  by  self-criticism :  probably  he  had  too  wide  and  in- 
telligent a  knowledge  of  the  methods  of  other  people  ever  to 
attack  any  definite,  original  work  boldly,  and  without  thought 


THE    LAURELS    AT    WOMBLEV    FLAT.  321 

of  any  tiling  but  his  own  purpose.  However,  the  aspirations  re- 
mained floating  about  in  a  mind  that  had  too  many  half-formed 
sympathies.  The  more  he  looked  at  this  girl,  the  more  he  was 
fascinated  by  the  possibility  that  she  might  become  the  shock 
that  would  suddenly  precipitate  the  floating  crystals  of  his  fancy. 
He  seemed  to  gather  strength  as  he  regarded  her;  there  was 
something  dauntless  and  high-spirited  in  her  bearing,  which 
might  inspire  a  man  to  write  a  fiery  poem  of  patriotism  and  war. 
There  was  a  mystery,  too,  about  her ;  she  might  reveal  to  him 
some  tragedy — some  glimpse  of  the  pain,  and  suffering,  and  forti- 
tude, to  be  met  with  among  the  commonplaceness  of  life.  He 
did  not  wish  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  but  he  was  fascinated  by 
her ;  and  he  wondered  whether  he  might  not  learn  something  of 
the  story  that  was  hidden  behind  that  proud  reserve  of  hers. 

Mrs.  Dowse  had  a  hard  fight  of  it  with  Violet,  who,  with  great 
gratitude,  but  also  with  much  firmness,  declined  to  go  down  to 
Berkshire.  But  Mrs.  Dowse  had  not  come  up  to  London  for 
nothing.  Pressed  into  a  corner,  the  girl  weakly  based  her  de- 
fense on  the  fact  that  she  had  no  traveling -bag;  whereupon  a 
traveling-bag  was  instantly  produced  by  Mr.  Dowse  himself,  who 
forthwith  sent  off  his  wife  and  Miss  Violet  in  a  cab  to  the  lodg- 
ings of  the  latter,  where  she  made  a  few  necessary  preparations 
for  her  brief  journey.     Mrs.  Dowse  was  very  kind  to  her. 

Now,  if  these  friendly  people  had  any  notion  before  that  there 
was  some  mystery  about  the  girl,  they  were  not  likely  to  have 
the  impression  removed  by  a  closer  acquaintance.  She  seemed 
strangely  familiar  with  modes  of  life  not  likely  to  come  within 
the  ken  of  a  shop-assistant.  Yet  she  talked  very  little  during  the 
railway  journey :  they  could  not  understand  why  she  should  be 
so  sad  and  silent,  when  they  were  taking  her  off  for  a  holiday. 

It  was  her  first  glimpse  of  the  country  since  she  had  been  up 
among  the  Highland  hills  and  seas ;  the  first  time  she  had  escaped 
from  the  prison  of  the  city.  And  yet  these  out-of-door  sights 
seemed  somehow  strange  and  unnatural ;  the  outer  world  had 
changed  since  last  she  saw  blue  skies  and  green  fields.  True, 
this  midday  sky  was  blue  enough  when  they  got  well  outside 
London ;  and  the  sun  was  shining  down  on  green  meadows ;  but 
the  green  was  raw,  wet,  and  wintry.  Out  by  Ealing  and  nanwell 
they  came  into  the  region  of  orchards ;  the  leafless  branches  of 
the  short  and  stumpy  trees  were  black.     But  still  farther  out  the 

14* 


322  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

trees  were  not  wholly  leafless;  the  oaks  were  still  of  a  russet- 
brown,  the  elms  of  a  golden-yellow,  the  pines  dark-green ;  and 
then  they  got  into  the  country  proper,  where  there  were  long 
stretches  of  plowed  land,  and  here  and  there  a  field  green  with 
spring  wheat  just  coming  up ;  and  dank  meadows,  with  sheep  in 
them  that  would  have  been  badly  off  without  turnips.  More- 
over, though  it  was  November,  there  was  a  spring-like  mildness 
in  the  air ;  and  the  skies  were  blue  enough.  Was  it  only  fancy 
that  convinced  her  the  world  had  changed  so  much  within  a 
couple  of  months  or  so  ? 

A  wagonette  and  pair  of  handsome  grays  met  them  at  Wind- 
sor Station ;  Mrs.  Dowse  got  up  on  the  box  -  seat  and  took  the 
reins,  Violet  sitting  next  her,  the  others  getting  in  behind. 
Away  they  drove  down  the  town,  and  over  the  bridge,  and  out 
through  the  old-fashioned  streets  of  Eton.  Violet's  spirits  rose. 
Here  the  air  smelled  sweet ;  and  she  was  fond  of  driving. 

"I  see  you  don't  use  bearing -reins,"  said  she,  lightly,  to  her 
companion.  "  I  remember  one  of  my  father's  horses  that  never 
would  go  with  the  bearing -rein.  It  was  no  use.  There  was 
merely  a  jibbing -match  when  they  tried  to  fasten  up  his  head; 
and  yet  you  never  saw  an  animal  that  held  his  head  better — with- 
out any  bearing-rein  at  all.  It  used  to  look  odd,  though,  to  have 
a  bearing-rein  on  one  horse,  and  not  on  the  other." 

She  had  no  thought  of  what  she  was  saying ;  but  Mrs.  Dowse 
had.  So  this  young  lady's  father  had  his  carnage  and  pair  of 
horses ! 

When  they  had  reached  The  Laurels,  and  when  Violet  had 
been  shown  up -stairs  to  her  room,  Mrs.  Dowse  did  not  fail  to 
repeat  to  her  husband  and  son  that  bit  of  conversation.  But 
Dowse  senior  repudiated  his  wife's  inference. 

"  Nonsense,  Florry  !  Her  father  may  be  a  coachman,  who  has 
given  his  daughter  a  good  education.  The  poorer  classes  in  Scot- 
land are  very  well  educated." 

"  But  she  is  not  Scotch." 

"  No  ;  no  more  she  is.  Oh,  well,  if  her  father  was  a  duke,  it 
doesn't  matter.     Suppose  we  call  her  Lady  Violet?" 

"I  should  not  be  surprised,"  said  Dowse  junior,  with  a  mys- 
terious air,  "  to  learn  that  her  name  was  not  Main  at  all." 

"What's  that?"  said  his  father,  sharply.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say  we  have  got  one  of  the  swell  mob  into  the  house — who  is  to 


THE    LAURELS    AT    WOMBLEY    FLAT.  823 

open  the  doors  to  her  confederates  in  the  middle  of  the  night — 
that  we  may  be  all  murdered  and  robbed  ?  This  is  a  pretty  pass 
you  have  brought  us  to  by  your  benevolent  pity." 

Mr.  Edward  Dowse  did  not  like  being  made  fun  of  :  he  opened 
one  of  the  French  windows,  and  went  out  on  the  lawn. 

Now,  when  Violet  came  down,  Mrs.  Dowse  proposed  that  they 
should  go  round  the  garden  and  have  a  look  at  the  place  gener- 
ally ;  and  here,  also,  their  guest  betrayed  an  amount  of  knowledge 
which  was  scarcely  to  be  expected.  She  knew  all  the  finest  flow- 
ers in  the  conservatories ;  she  knew  how  these  ought  to  be  kept 
when  cut ;  had  they  heard  of  the  new  Java  plant  that  a  particu- 
lar florist  was  selling  at  twenty  pounds  a  piece  ?  They  discovered, 
however,  that  she  was  clearly  not  a  country-bred  girl.  She  knew 
nothing  about  pigeons,  or  about  the  various  breeds  of  fowls,  or 
even  about  vineries ;  and  she  was  quite  helpless  in  the  kitchen- 
garden.  Nevertheless,  she  was  very  much  interested;  and  they 
spent  the  afternoon  right  pleasantly,  until  the  gathering  twilight 
and  the  chilly  air  bid  them  go  in  and  dress  for  dinner. 

The  more  that  Edward  Dowse  saw  of  this  girl,  the  more  was 
his  curiosity  stimulated.  He  sat  opposite  her  at  dinner,  and  could 
see  the  effect  of  every  thing  that  was  said  on  the  expression  of 
her  face.  She  had  been  a  trifle  embarrassed  at  first :  that  had 
worn  off ;  now  she  was  talking  quite  brightly  and  cheerfully — it 
was  some  time  since  she  had  been  roused  into  vivacity  by  social 
intercourse.  And  all  these  speeches  of  hers  were,  in  a  measure, 
a  revelation  of  herself;  he  began  to  fashion  imaginary  histories 
of  her. 

His  fanciful  study  of  her,  however,  was  interrupted  by  a  singu- 
lar little  incident.  He  was  talking  of  certain  artists  whom  he 
knew ;  and  happened  to  mention,  quite  accidentally,  the  Judaeum 
Club.     She  instantly  looked  up,  and  said,  quickly, 

"  Do  you— know  that  club?" 

"  I  am  a  member  of  it,"  he  answered. 

The  girl  was  silent  for  some  time  after  that ;  but  he  never  for- 
got the  quick  look  of  anxiety — almost  of  fright — that  passed  over 
her  face  as  she  asked  the  question.  That  she  knew  some  one 
in  that  club  lie  considered  obvious ;  and  also  that  that  some  ono 
had  had  something  to  do  with  her  previous  history.  Here,  in- 
deed, was  something  for  him  to  think  about. 

If  Violet  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  fear  on  learning  that 


324  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

this  young  man  belonged  to  the  club  of  which  George  Miller  was 
a  member,  she  did  not  let  the  knowledge  disturb  her  enjoyment  of 
that  evening.  They  had  really  a  very  pleasant  evening ;  though 
it  sometimes  recalled  other  evenings  that  were  now  best  hidden 
away  in  the  past.  There  was  a  blazing  fire  in  the  white-and-gold 
drawing-room  ;  and  a  good  deal  of  cigar-smoke  too.  Mrs.  Dowse, 
in  a  worn  and  feeble  voice,  the  defects  of  which  were  almost  con- 
doned by  her  cleverness  of  expression,  sung  all  sorts  of  old  and 
familiar  Irish  songs,  and  sung  them  very  nicely  indeed.  Then 
she  would  have  her  son  sing  also ;  and  Violet  had  a  suspicion  that 
these  pretty  little  chansonnettes  that  he  sung,  with  their  tears, 
and  roses,  and  nights  profound,  were  of  his  own  composition. 
She  did  not  care  much  for  that  kind  of  thing ;  she  had  been  ed- 
ucated in  a  robuster  air.  When  Mr.  Dowse  hinted  that  perhaps 
Miss  Violet  also  sung,  she  went  to  the  piano  at  once,  and  there 
was  mischief  in  her  face. 

Now,  the  young  lady  had  the  poorest  opinion  of  her  own  sing- 
ing, and  in  ordinary  circumstances  would  have  flatly  declined  to 
make  what  she  considered  an  exhibition  of  herself  ;  but  a  certain 
rebellious  feeling  had  got  the  better  of  her,  aud  she  was  deter- 
mined to  give  a  counterblast  to  all  those  melancholy  utterances  of 
an  affected  French  sentiment.  She  was  fresh  from  the  North ; 
hothouse  airs  sickened  her.  There  was  a  malicious  humor  in  her 
face  as  she  sung,  at  random,  and  with  some  briskness,  the  good, 
old,  wholesome  ballad  of  Willie's  visit  to  Melville  Castle,  which, 
as  it  may  not  be  known  much  in  the  South,  one  may  be  pardoned 
for  quoting  here : 

"  0  Willie's  gane  to  Melville  Castle, 
Boots  and  spurs  and  a'," 

— it  begins ;  and  there  was  a  sort  of  gallant  and  martial  air  about 
the  singer  that  convinced  one  of  the  listeners  that  if  she  had  been 
born  a  man  she  would  most  assuredly  have  become  a  soldier — 

"  To  bid  the  leddies  a'  farewell, 
Before  he  gaed  awa'. 

"  The  first  he  met  was  Lady  Bet, 
Who  led  him  through  the  ha', 
And  with  a  sad  and  sorry  heart 
She  let  the  tears  doon  fa'. 


THE    LAURELS    AT    WOMBLEY    FLAT.  325 

"  Near  the  fire  stood  Lady  Grace, 
Said  ne'er  a  word  ava ; 
She  thought  that  she  was  sure  o'  him 
Before  he  gaed  awa\ 

"  The  next  he  saw  was  Lady  Kate : 
Guid  troth,  he  needna  craw, 
Maybe  the  lad  will  fancy  me, 
And  disappoint  ye  a'." 

By  this  time  Violet  could  scarcely  sing  for  laughing;  and  Mr. 
Edward  Dowse  had  a  sore  suspicion  that  she  was  making  fun  of 
those  transcendental  longings  of  his,  in  rose-gardens,  with  bruised 
hearts,  and  the  ashes  of  dead  love  gray  in  the  moonlight.  Mr. 
Dowse,  too,  woke  up :  he  was  not  at  home  in  French  metrical 
composition  ;  but  here  was  something  distinctly  intelligible.  She 
continued : 

"  Then  down  the  stair  skipt  Lady  Jean, 
The  flower  among  them  a' ; 
Oh,  lasses,  trust  in  Providence, 
And  ye'll  get  husbands  a'. 

"As  on  his  steed  he  gallop'd  off, 
They  a'  came  to  the  door ; 
He  gayly  raised  his  feather' d  plume ; 
They  set  up  sic  a  roar ! 

"  Their  sighs,  their  cries,  brought  Willie  back, 
He  kissed  them  ane  and  a', 
Oh,  lassies,  bide  till  I  come  hame, 
And  then  I'll  wed  ye  a' !" 

She  was  not  ashamed  of  the  graceless  song,  as  she  rose  from  the 
piano  with  a  malicious  look  still  in  her  eyes ;  and  Mrs.  Dowse  was 
vastly  delighted  with  it.  But  as  for  the  person  whom  it  was 
meant  to  convert  to  the  notion  that,  after  all,  there  was  a  little 
humor  in  human  nature,  and  that  a  man  could  not  spend  his  life 
in  beating  his  forehead  in  the  dust  before  a  mysterious,  scornful, 
and  probably  rather  foolish  woman,  he  was  just  a  trifle  offended 
at  first,  and  would  even  have  ventured  on  some  disparagement  of 
Scotland  and  Scotch  literature  generally,  had  he  not  been  prompt- 
ly warned  off  that  dangerous  ground.  These  dissensions  were 
brought  to  an  end  by  a  servant  bringing  in  the  candles  and  put- 
ting them  conspicuously  in  the  middle  of  the  table.     That  was 


326  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

a  custom  against  which  Mr.  Dowse  protested  in  vain :  his  wife 
would  have  it  that  it  was  better  to  light  your  candle  in  the  draw- 
ing-room than  in  the  cold  hall. 

Mr.  Edward  Dowse  went  up  to  his  own  room,  which  seemed 
to  be  partially  fitted  up  as  a  study.  There  was  a  big  fire  burning 
in  the  grate ;  a  comfortable  easy -chair  before  it ;  a  table,  with  a 
box  of  cigars,  a  bottle  of  claret,  and  writing  materials  on  it.  He 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  sat  down  before  the  fire. 

He  was  a  much  more  impressionable  and  imaginative  young 
man  than  Mr.  George  Miller ;  and  there  was  something  in  the  nat- 
ure of  this  girl — even  in  her  courageous  manner — that  affected 
him  keenly,  because  he  was  so  absolutely  destitute  of  the  same 
qualities  himself.  She  had  put  some  fire  and  nerve  into  his 
somewhat  nebulous  brain :  at  this  moment,  as  he  poured  out  a 
glass  of  claret,  he  wished  the  glass  could  have  been  a  bowl — a 
beaker  he  could  have  quaffed  to  Lady  Jean  as  she  came  down  the 
stair.  Soldiers'  songs  began  to  stir  in  his  memory;  he  drank  a 
glass  or  two  of  claret :  some  ringing  phrase  caught  his  fancy — 
surely  he,  too,  could  write  something  that  would  rouse  the  heart 
like  the  call  of  a  trumpet.  He  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
room  nervously — coining  phrases,  rhymes,  and  so  forth  ;  and  then 
he  hurriedly  sat  down  to  the  big  white  sheet  of  paper.  What 
would  she  say  to  this  ? 

"  Stand  up,  my  lads  ! — I  give  to-day, 
The  heroes  bold  of  Tanqueray  ! 
Be  they  in  heaven,  or  down  in  hell, 
Or  living  still,  I  can  not  tell : 
What  matters  it  ?     Up,  and  give  a  drain 
To  heroes  living  and  heroes  slain ! 
And  deepest  of  all  to  those,  I  say, 
Who  fought  like  fiends  at  Tanqueray !" 

He  was  positively  trembling  with  nervous  excitement ;  he  threw 
his  cigar  into  the  fire,  drank  some  more  claret,  and  continued  the 
rapid,  scrawling,  nervous  handwriting : 

"  God's  truth,  it  was  the  dead  o'  night 
We  stole  like  wild  cats  up  the  height ; 
And  Highland  Billy  he  cursed  and  swore 
He  never  had  seen  such  rocks  before. 
'  Kee  Vee  ?'  says  a  fellow.     I  dealt  him  a  blow 
That  sent  his  soul  to  the  devil  below ; 


THE    LAURELS    AT    WOMBLEY    FLAT.  327 

And  then,  with  a  yell,  and  a  laugh,  and  a  cheer, 
Made  the  wakening  Frenchies  shiver  with  fear, 
We  sprung  at  the  guns  ! — Boys,  that  was  the  way 
We  began  the  divarsion  at  Tanqueray  !" 

This,  now,  was  the  sort  of  ballad  to  put  before  the  girl,  whom  he 
likened  to  Briinhilde,  the  warrior-queen — the  fierce  maiden  repel- 
lent of  love — unapproachable,  unconquerable  ! 

"Asleep ?     Not  they !     All  the  black  of  the  night 
Began  to  sputter  with  jets  of  light — 

And  higher  and  higher — 

And  nigher  and  nigher 
Came  the  crackle  and  roar  of  the  musketry  fire ! 
'  Curse  them,  I'm  done !' — I  heard  him  fall — 
That  was  the  last  of  poor  Pat  from  Youghal." 

And  that  was  the  last,  too,  of  the  glorious  legend  of  Tanqueray, 
wherever  Tanqueray  may  be!  There  was  no  staying -power  in 
the  young  man.  He  had  got  so  far,  when  he  began  to  fear  he 
had  heard  something  like  it  before ;  and  this  uneasy  conscious- 
ness caused  him  to  throw  down  the  pen  and  take  up  the  paper. 
He  would  look  it  over ;  and  so  he  lighted  another  cigar. 

It  did  not  read  so  well  now.  It  was  shockingly  out  of  keep- 
ing with  those  mystic  sonnets  of  passion  which  he  hoped  to  pub- 
lish some  day ;  and  what  would  ladies  say  to  so  much  bad  lan- 
guage ?     What  would  Briinhilde  herself  say? 

Briinhilde  would  have  said  nothing  at  all ;  but  it  is  probable 
she  would  have,  as  usual,  fallen  back,  in  her  thoughts,  on  a  remark 
of  her  master's :  "  Force  of  phrase  is  only  the  bit  of  clay  that  a 
butcher's  boy  flings  at  a  brick  wall  in  passing;  force  of  feeling  is 
the  strong,  inevitable,  gentle  wind  that  carries  a  ship  across  the 
sea."  It  was  not  her  judgment,  but  the  judgment  of  James 
Drummond,  that  would  have  spoken.  He  was  still — she  knew 
he  would  be  to  the  end — the  "very  eyes"  of  her. 

As  for  this  hysteric  effort  of  a  weak  man  to  assume  the  lan- 
guage of  a  coarse  and  strong  man,  it  became  more  and  more  dis- 
tasteful to  the  author  of  it,  who  tore  up  the  paper,  threw  his 
second  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  got  to  bed ;  so  that  the  world  was 
deprived  forever  of  the  ballad  of  the  fierce  fight  at  Tanqueray. 


328  MADCAP   VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AN    ENCOUNTER. 

Violet  came  down  next  morning  to  the  clean,  bright  breakfast- 
room.  The  French  windows  showed  her  the  sunlight  shining 
on  the  green  lawn  outside  and  on  the  yellow  leaves  left  on  the 
chestnuts.  There  was  a  brisk  fire  burning  in  the  grate.  All  this 
bright,  warm  comfort,  and  the  strange  quiet  of  the  Sunday  morn- 
ing, even  the  spotless  purity  of  the  table-linen,  seemed  so  differ- 
ent from  London. 

She  feared  all  this.  She  wished  she  had  not  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  these  friendly  people.  She  would  rather  have  been 
without  this  glimpse  of  kindly  home-life  before  she  left  England 
forever.  The  world  had  grown  very  dark  for  her;  and  as  her 
chief  wish  now  was  to  be  out  of  it,  she  did  not  care  to  make  new 
friends  or  cultivate  new  associations  she  might  have  to  leave  with 
some  regret.  That  lonely  room  in  London  was  more  to  her 
liking. 

Mrs.  Dowse  came  bustling  into  the  breakfast -room,  smiling, 
radiant,  apologizing  to  Violet  for  being  late,  and  almost  apolo- 
gizing for  having  dressed  herself  somewhat  smartly.  She  said 
she  had  given  up  the  notion  of  surviving  her  husband  and  mar- 
rying again ;  so  that  she  could  not  afford  to  forfeit  Richard's  af- 
fections by  sinking  into  slatternly  habits.  Richard  liked  to  see 
her  smartly  dressed  in  the  morning ;  and  there  was  nobody  else 
to  dress  for.  If  she  were  lost,  Richard  would  advertise  that  she 
was  not  of  the  slightest  use  to  any  one  but  the  owner.  And  so 
the  good-natured  woman  chattered  on  in  a  friendly  way ;  and  Vi- 
olet really  began  to  like  her,  despite  her  somewhat  heavy  golden 
chains  and  brooches. 

At  breakfast,  Violet  seemed  rather  disinclined  to  go  to  church ; 
but  when  Edward  DowTse — who  looked  rather  pale  and  unhealthy 
in  the  morning — suggested  that  they  should  have  the  wagonette 
and  drive  away  to  a  certain  remote  and  picturesque  little  par- 
ish church  which  he  named,  she  eagerly  assented  to  that.  In  due 
time  they  started. 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  329 

"  Why  do  you  wear  a  veil  in  the  country,  Miss  Main  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Dowse,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  habit,"  the  girl  said. 

It  was  indeed  an  ancient  and  picturesque  little  church  they 
reached  at  length ;  the  outside  largely  overgrown  with  ivy,  the 
inside  quaint,  dusky,  and  smelling  of  damp.  They  were  country 
people  who  sat  in  the  benches — mostly  old,  wrinkled,  and  bowed. 
The  parson  was  a  rubicund,  benevolent -looking  man;  present- 
ly his  voice  sounded  in  a  monotonous  and  melancholy  manner 
through  the  hushed  little  building. 

She  heard  little  of  the  service ;  her  heart  was  sore.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  this  small  out-of-the-way  church  was  a  bit  of  that 
"  old  "  England  that  was  very  dear  to  her,  and  that  she  was  about 
to  leave  forever.  Leaving  London  was  nothing.  But  where  in 
that  far  land  to  which  she  was  going  would  she  find  the  old- 
fashioned  parish  church,  and  the  simple  peasants,  and  the  easy- 
going paternal  pastor  ?  It  was  all  part  of  a  picture  that  had  been 
familiar  to  her  from  her  childhood  —  the  ivy  on  the  walls,  the 
dull,  diamonded  panes  inside,  the  marble  tablets,  the  oaken  pews, 
and  the  fresh-washed  faces  of  the  girls  who  stood  up  in  the  choir 
to  sing.  Sometimes,  in  London,  she  went  to  a  very  grand  church, 
which  had  fine  architecture  without  and  elaborate  decorations 
within ;  and  she  was  much  impressed  by  the  music,  and  she  list- 
ened attentively  to  the  sermon.  She  had  never  thought  twice 
about  leaving  that.  Here,  in  this  Berkshire  church,  she  paid  but 
little  notice  to  the  different  parts  of  the  service,  and  the  monot- 
onous voice  of  the  parson  rambled  on  through  his  discourse  un- 
heeded ;  but  she  knew  that  she  would  remember  this  little  build- 
ing and  its  people  and  services  when  she  was  far  away,  and  would 
know  that  she  had  left  behind  her  a  part  of  herself  that  no  other 
country  in  the  world  could  give  her.  More  and  more  she  began 
to  regret  that  she  had  ever  been  tempted  away,  even  for  a  day, 
from  the  lifeless  life  she  was  leading  in  London. 

There  was  another  reason,  too,  why  she  wished  to  be  safely 
back  in  her  hiding-place.  She  could  never  say  that  by  accident 
she  might  not  stumble  on  some  one  who  kneAv  herself  or  her 
father,  so  long  as  she  was  moving  about  among  strangers  and 
strange  places.  In  London  she  was  secure.  She  had  even  a  sense 
of  freedom  there.  She  had  got  accustomed  to  that  plan  of  life 
which  she  had  devised  as  best  likely  to  prevent  detection ;  and 


330  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

it  was  no  longer  an  embarrassment.  In  the  twilight  that  pre- 
vailed over  her  desk  she  was  safe.  In  the  back  streets  leading 
up  to  Oxford  Street  she  was  safe.  Once  the  plunge  across  that 
thoroughfare  taken — and  she  had  a  thick  veil  to  conceal  her  face 
— she  was  close  to  her  longings,  and  she  was  again  safe. 

But  here,  driving  about,  traveling  by  rail,  and  so  on,  who  could 
tell  ?  Moreover,  she  had  been  greatly  disturbed  on  learning  that 
Edward  Dowse  was  a  member  of  the  Judseum.  She  knew  that 
in  such  an  association  of  perhaps  fifteen  hundred  persons,  it  did 
not  at  all  follow  that  one  picked  out  at  random  should  know  a 
certain  other  one ;  but  there  was  the  risk ;  and  if  Edward  Dowse 
did  happen  to  have  the  acquaintance  of  George  Miller,  all  that  she 
had  done  might  suddenly  be  rendered  useless.  While  she  re- 
mained in  London,  her  conversation  with  the  Dowses,  father  and 
son,  had  been  almost  exclusively  about  business  affairs.  Edward 
Dowse  would  never  have  thought  of  telling  her  that  he  was  a 
member  of  the  Judseum.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  not  even 
the  right  to  take  a  friendly  interest  in  her  affairs.  They  were 
practically  strangers,  and  apart.  Now  the  case  was  somewhat 
different ;  and  as  the  girl  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  Dowses 
must  suspect  her  of  having  belonged  to  a  condition  in  life  supe- 
rior to  that  which  she  was  now  in,  she  began  more  and  more  to 
dread  the  consequences  of  this  kindly  interference  in  her  welfare. 

Then  she  noticed,  with  some  dismay,  that  Edward  Dowse  would 
persistently  talk  to  her  about  the  Judseum  Club.  At  luncheon, 
for  example,  he  sat  opposite  her — she  facing  the  window,  he  in 
shadow ;  and  she  knew  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  speak  of  this  man  and  that  man,  professing  to  give 
humorous  little  sketches  of  them.  They  were  not  as  keen,  shrewd, 
and  accurate  sketches  as  George  Miller  could  have  given  of  some 
of  his  fellows ;  they  were  loose,  imaginative,  and  rather  weak ; 
but  she  noticed  that  he  always  mentioned  each  man  by  name. 
The  fancy  leaped  into  her  head  that  this  young  man  had  noticed 
her  embarrassment  on  the  preceding  evening,  when  he  announced 
that  he  was  a  member  of  the  Judseum  Club ;  and  that  now  he 
was  trying  to  find  out — by  the  same  key — which  of  the  members 
she  knew.     Her  supposition  was  correct. 

The  mystery  about  this  girl  fascinated  the  young  man.  Per- 
haps it  was  more  a  literary  than  a  personal  interest  he  had  in  her 
— he  imagined  possibilities  of  romance  in  connection  with  her 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  331 

which  might  perchance  feed  his  poetic  flame ;  but,  at  all  events, 
he  was  determined  to  find  out,  if  he  could,  who  and  what  she 
really  was.  The  method  of  discovery  he  employed  was  not  high- 
ly ingenious,  but  he  persevered  with  it ;  while  the  mere  suspicion 
on  her  part  that  he  was  talking  about  clubs  for  this  purpose  pro- 
duced a  great  embarrassment  in  the  girl's  manner,  which  rendered 
it  certain  that  if  he  did  mention  the  right  name  by  accident,  she 
would  assuredly  betray  herself. 

"  After  all,"  he  was  saying,  "  there  is  a  democratic  equality  and 
independence  about  an  ordinary  big  club  that  you  don't  get  in 
the  smaller  clubs  that  are  founded  by  distinguished  people  for 
particular  purposes.  In  these  small  clubs  the  big  men  tyrannize 
over  you ;  and  they  do  that  when  they  are  dead,  too.  You  go 
into  the  place  as  a  guest ;  your  friend  tells  you  that  the  club  was 
founded  by  So-and-so ;  you  look  round  the  room  at  the  nobodies 
who  are  there,  and  wonder  at  the  cheek  of  the  man  who  sits  in 
the  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table.  These  ghosts  of  the  big  men 
overshadow  the  place.  But  in  an  ordinary  large  club,  like  a  hotel, 
Mr.  Ferdinand  Stettin,  the  wool -broker,  is  quite  as  good  as  the 
Hon.  Arthur  Hunt,  who  is  Lord  Exington's  youngest  son,  and  Dal- 
rymple  the  stock-broker  pays  for  his  lives  at  pool  just  like  Cap- 
tain Duke,  who  has  got  the  V.C." 

Stettin — Hunt — Dalrymple — Duke :  it  was  rather  clever  to  get 
four  names,  apparently  at  hap-hazard,  into  one  sentence.  But  they 
were  useless. 

"  Do  you  play  pool  ?"  said  she,  making  a  desperate  effort  to  get 
him  away  from  talking  of  his  club  acquaintances. 

"A  little — not  much,"  said  he,  modestly:  the  fact  being  that 
he  had  played  it  once,  and  had  lost  his  three  lives  in  about  five 
minutes. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  she  continued — still  hurriedly — to  get  him 
away  from  the  club,  "  used  to  say  that  that  was  the  only  thing 
worth  saving  money  for." 

"  To  play  pool  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  quickly,  for  she  was  a  trifle  confused.  "  He 
used  to  say  that  if  life  were  like  a  game  at  pool,  and  you  could 
at  the  end  of  it  '  star '  and  come  to  life  again,  by  paying  money, 
then  it  would  be  worth  while  saving  up  money.  He  could  not 
understand  any  one  hoarding  money  for  any  other  purpose.  That 
is  the  phrase,  is  it  not, '  to  star?'  " 


332  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  accomplished  pool-player. 

He  was  not  thinking  of  pool  at  all,  but  of  this  unknown  and 
mysterious  friend  of  hers.  So  he  played  in  the  billiard-room  at 
the  Judaeum.  That  was  a  further  clue ;  and  here,  indeed,  young 
Mr.  Dowse  was  getting  "  warm,"  as  children  say  at  blind-man's- 
buff,  although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  not  been  talking  of 
George  Miller  at  all. 

In  the  end  he  was  baffled — at  least,  so  far  as  that  day  was  con- 
cerned. He  did  know  George  Miller — as  club -men  know  each 
other — but  by  some  strange  accident  he  never  happened  to  men- 
tion the  name.  Moreover,  he  could  not  go  on  all  day  talking 
about  clubs,  especially  as  the  girl  made  valiant  efforts  to  drag  the 
conversation  elsewhere.  At  night,  in  communion  with  himself 
over  a  cigar,  he  had  to  confess  that  he  had  failed ;  and  that  he 
knew  no  more  about  Miss  Main  now  than  when  she  had  started 
with  them  the  day  before,  except,  perhaps,  that  it  was  more  mani- 
fest than  ever  that  she  had  not  been  born  and  brought  up  in 
the  condition  of  life  which  she  now,  voluntarily  or  involuntarily, 
occupied. 

Violet  was  glad  to  return  to  London.  Mrs.  Dowse  had  been 
good  enough  to  say,  as  the  girl  left  on  the  Monday  morning,  that 
she  hoped  her  next  visit  would  be  a  longer  one ;  and  the  young 
lady  had  returned  her  grateful  thanks,  without  making  any 
promise. 

She  returned  to  her  book-keeping  duties,  to  her  veiled  and  hur- 
ried nights  across  the  greater  thoroughfares,  to  the  silent  and 
monotonous  evenings  in  that  small  room,  herself  alone  with  her 
books,  and  her  memoranda,  and  her  dreams.  She  was  growing 
impatient  now ;  pinch  as  she  might,  her  savings  increased  but 
slowly.  Including  the  money  she  had  at  the  outset,  she  was  now 
possessed  of  something  like  thirteen  pounds ;  but  what  was  that  ? 
She  could  not  set  out  on  her  voyage  to  the  land  in  which  the 
dead  come  to  life  again  with  only  thirteen  pounds  in  her  pocket ; 
she  could  not  even  get  to  New  York,  which  she  had  come  to  con- 
sider as  the  first  point  to  be  gained. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Roberts  called  on  her :  there  was  a  roguish 
look  on  the  roseate  face ;  the  good  woman  was  determined  to  be 
facetiously  angry. 

"  Miss  Main,"  said  she,  "  I  am  come  to  talk  seriously  to  you.  I 
have  been  speaking  with  your  landlady ;  she  says  you  eat  nothing." 


AN    ENCOUNTER.  333 

"  I  am  sure  I  eat  as  much  as  any  one :  do  I  look  as  if  I  were 
starving  ?"  said  the  girl,  cheerfully. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well  at  all.  You  may  not  know  it,  but 
you  are  not.  Now  —  you  will  excuse  me  —  but  I  said  I  would 
look  after  you,  whether  you  liked  it  or  not ;  and  now  if  you  are 
trying  to  save  a  little  money,  seeing  that  you  are  all  alone  like, 
what  I  say  is  this :  don't  save  it  out  of  your  eating  and  drinking, 
but  ask  Mr.  Dowse  to  raise  your  salary  :  that  is  what  I  say." 

The  girl  never  thought  of  denying  that  she  was  trying  hard  to 
save  money. 

"  I  could  not  do  that,  Mrs.  Roberts.  I  am  sure  I  am  very  well 
paid." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  The  Dowses  are  very  rich ;  they  ought  to 
give  you  thirty  shillings  a  week  now ;  and  they  would  do  it  in  a 
moment,  if  you  asked  them." 

"  I  could  not  ask  them." 

"  Then  I  will." 

Violet  was  irresolute.  On  the  one  hand,  she  was  exceeding- 
ly anxious  to  get  away  from  England;  on  the  other,  she  had  a 
humiliating  consciousness  that  if  the  Dowses  gave  her  this  in- 
crease of  salary,  it  would  be  out  of  a  friendly  compassion. 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing,"  continued  the  impulsive  Mrs. 
Roberts,  smoothing  the  black  hair  over  her  shining  face.  "  My 
brother-in-law  spoke  to  me  about  it  yesterday.  He  wishes  to  in- 
troduce some  new  process  that  he  has  bought  from  an  American ; 
and  he  wants  to  get  one  or  two  good  subjects — to  make  good 
pictures,  you  know.  Now — would  you  mind  sitting  to  him  some 
forenoon — Mr.  Dowse  could  spare  yon  for  an  hour  or  two — and 
— and  you  might  as  well  have  a  five-pound  note  as  not,  if  I  may 
venture  to  tell  you  a  secret — " 

The  girl's  face  flushed,  but  she  was  not  angry. 

"  No,  thank  yon,  Mrs.  Roberts.     I  could  not  do  that." 

"  lie  says  you  would  make  a  capital  subject — perhaps  with  a 
bit  of  fancy  costume — " 

"  I  really  could  not  do  that,"  the  girl  said,  quickly.  "  It  is 
very  kind  of  you,  however.  Let  us  talk  about  something  else, 
Mrs.  Roberts.     Do  you  know  any  body  in  New  York  V1 

"  In  New  York  ?"  said  the  landlady,  with  a  sharp  glance.  "  Do 
you  think  of  going  to  New  York?" 

The  question  was  so  direct  that  Violet  answered  it  unawares. 


334  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Yes— by-and-by." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Roberts,  rather  anxiously.  "And  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  think  it  is  rather  dangerous  for  a 
young  lady  to  be  going  about  like  that — quite  alone — " 

"  Yes ;  but  what  if  there  is  no  one  to  go  with  her  ?"  said  the 
girl,  without  any  bitterness  at  all. 

"  You  know,  Miss  Main,"  said  the  landlady,  earnestly,  "  you 
would  soon  make  friends  enough,  if  you  cared  to ;  but  if  you  go 
from  one  town  to  another,  how  can  you  ?" 

"Does  your  brother-in-law  know  any  body  in  New  York?" 

"  I  will  ask  him,  if  you  like ;  but  I  hope  you  won't  think  of 
going." 

Instead,  however,  of  asking  Mr.  Roberts  about  his  American 
friends,  she  went  down  to  Mr.  Dowse  and  told  him  that  Miss 
Main  had  some  notion  of  going  to  New  York ;  and  that  if  he 
wished  to  retain  her  services  he  ought  at  once  to  raise  her  salary. 
Mr.  Dowse  had  not  the  least  objection  ;  although,  he  said,  before 
Miss  Main  had  formed  any  such  intention  she  might  have  made 
complaint  to  himself.  Mrs.  Roberts  replied  that  Miss  Main  had 
made  no  complaint  to  any  one ;  and  from  that  moment  Miss 
Main  received  the  very  handsome  salary,  all  things  considered,  of 
thirty  shillings  a  week. 

Now,  indeed,  her  small  hoard  of  savings  began  to  increase  more 
appreciably ;  and  she  looked  forward  with  some  sad  hope  to  the 
time  when  she  should  be  release'd  from  the  fear  which  more  or 
less  haunted  her  while  she  remained  in  this  country.  So  far,  all 
her  plans  had  been  successful. 

So  far,  only.  One  evening,  as  she  was  hurrying  home,  she 
found  herself  stopped  by  a  man  who  would  not  get  out  of  her 
way.  With  some  indignation  she  looked  up  ;  and  then  she  could 
scarcely  repress  a  cry  of  alarm.  Standing  before  her  —  a  trifle 
pale,  perhaps,  but  not  much  agitated — she  found  George  Miller, 
who  merely  said  "  Violet !"  and  put  out  his  hand. 


335 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

TIDINGS. 

He  did  not  at  all  betray  the  fear  that  might  have  been  expect- 
ed in  the  case  of  a  man  who,  believing  that  a  certain  woman  has 
been  dead  for  some  months,  suddenly  finds  her  standing  before 
him  in  the  streets.  The  terror  too  plainly  was  all  on  her  side. 
Even  by  the  light  of  the  gas-lamps,  and  even  through  that  thick 
veil,  he  saw  the  frightened  stare  of  her  eyes ;  and  when  she  spoke, 
it  was  with  a  hurried  and  harsh  voice  not  like  that  of  the  Violet 
of  old. 

"  Is  this  an  accident  ?"  she  demanded,  abruptly. 

"  N-no,"  he  stammered.  "  It  was  an  accident,  certainly,  that  I 
heard  from  young  Dowse  about  you ;  that  is  to  say — " 

"  Does  he  know  who  I  am  ?"  she  again  demanded,  with  the 
same  abruptness.  Her  hands  were  clenched,  ajid  her  face  deadly 
pale. 

"  No,  he  does  not." 

"  Nor  any  one  ?" 

"  No  one  but  myself.  I  waited  to  make  sure.  Violet,  why 
have  you  done  all  this  ?" 

She  paid  no  heed  to  him.  For  a  second  or  two  she  remained 
silent ;  then  she  said,  vehemently, 

"  No  one  knows  but  yourself.  You  must  give  me  your  word 
of  honor — you  must  swear  to  me — that  not  another  human  being 
shall  ever  know !" 

He  almost  retreated  a  step,  bewildered. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  in  a  protesting  way,  "  I  don't  understand 
you.  You — you  don't  know  how  sorry  we  have  all  been — and 
— and  you  expect  me  not  to  go  with  such  good  news — to  your 
father,  and  others  :  it  would  be  madness ;  you  have  no  right  to 
inflict  such  pain  upon  them  merely  because  of  a  mad  freak ;  I 
don't  understand  it — " 

"  No,  and  you  never  would  understand  it,"  she  said,  bitterly, 
"  if  I  explained  it  to  you  a  hundred  times  over.  It  is  a  mad 
freak  !     You  think  I  was  pleasing  myself,  and  grieving  others  un- 


336  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

necessarily  ?  Well,  that  is  no  matter.  What  any  one  thinks  of 
me  is  no  matter  now." 

She  uttered  these  last  words  in  an  absent  way.  Even  he  was 
struck  by  the  tone  of  tragic  despair  in  them  ;  he  could  not  under- 
stand this  strange  thing. 

"  Come,  Violet,"  said  he,  "  you  have  made  a  great  mistake ; 
but  nobody  will  think  any  thing  about  it — we  shall  all  be  so  glad 
to  s;et  you  back  again.  You  and  I  were  not  great  friends  Avhen 
we  last  saw  each  other ;  but  now — well,  you  must  let  me  share  in 
the  happiness  you  will  cause  to  every  one.  No  one  will  ask  you 
any  questions  you  don't  wish  to  answer.  You  will  have  every 
thing  your  own  way.  You  won't  be  asked  to  do  any  thing  you 
don't  like." 

lie  was  talking  almost  at  random,  for  he  was  very  much  ex- 
cited ;  and  behind  all  this  garrulous  speech  his  brain  was  busy 
working  with  all  sorts  of  other  speculations.  Was  it  possible  she 
had  run  away  because  she  had  found  herself  miserable  up  in  the 
North  ?  Was  it  the  prospect  of  her  marriage  with  James  Drum- 
mond  that  was  the  cause  of  her  misery  ?  And  now — seeing  how 
definitely  she  had  testified  to  her  repugnance — was  it  not  possi- 
ble that  she  might  be  induced  to  revert  to  her  earlier  friend,  who 
now  stood  beside  her,  and  who  had  mourned  her  loss  with  much 
sincerity  of  feeling  ? 

"You  don't  know — you  don't  know,"  she  said,  sadly,  in  an- 
swer to  all  these  solicitations  of  his.  "You  talk  to  me  as  if  I 
were  a  spoiled  child,  who  had  run  away  from  home.  My  own 
way  ?  Was  there  any  thing  in  which  I  did  not  have  my  own  way 
while  I  lived  with  those  good  friends  ?  It  was  not  that  at  all.  I 
was  the  cause  of  great  unhappiness  ;  and — and  I  loved  them  ;  and 
— and  I  knew  it  was  better  for  them  and  every  one  to  think  that 
I  was  dead — " 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken,"  said  he,  earnestly,  yet  he  saw 
how  little  effect  his  words  had.  They  seemed  to  go  by  the  set- 
tled sorrow  of  that  pale  face.  "  The  greatest  nnhappiness  they 
could  have  known  was  your  death." 

"  That  will  all  pass  away,"  she  said.  "  I  considered  that. 
They  will  be  grieved  for  a  time — for  I  think  they  liked  me,  in 
spite  of — in  spite  of  every  thing ;  but  afterward  it  will  be  all 
right.  Now,"  she  added,  with  renewed  decision,  "  you  must  give 
me  that  promise." 


TIDINGS.  387 

Bewildered  as  he  was,  he  had  still  sufficient  strength  left  him 
to  resist  that  demand,  and  he  did  so  boldly.  But  she  was  fully 
as  firm.  At  length  he  asked  to  be  allowed  some  time  to  consid- 
er. Would  she  give  him  till  the  following  evening,  when  he 
could  meet  her  again  ? 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  you  must  promise  now,  absolutely.  And  we 
must  not  meet  again." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  make  such  a  demand,"  said  he,  warmly. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  ought  to  let  your  father  remain  in 
ignorance  that  you  are  alive  ?" 

"You  had  no  right  to  discover  my  secret,"  she  said,  quite  as 
warmly. 

"  Wait  a  minute — let  me  think,"  he  said,  resolved  not  to  stum- 
ble into  some  irretrievable  blunder. 

They  were  now  walking  up  and  down  Great  Marlborough  Street 
— slowly  pacing  the  almost  deserted  pavement.  It  was  only  when 
they  passed  a  gas-lamp  that  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  through  the 
veil  of  that  pale  face  and  the  dark  eyes  he  used  to  know.  Well, 
as  they  walked  so,  in  silence,  Miller  struggled  hard  to  keep  all  his 
wits  about  him  in  this  serious  crisis.  He  knew  the  decision  of 
which  this  girl  was  capable ;  if  he  did  not  at  least  pretend  to  ac- 
cede, there  was  no  saying  what  further  rashness  on  her  part  might 
not  result.  His  first  point  was  to  gain  time.  Supposing  he  did 
promise,  he  might  talk  her  over  afterward.  Moreover,  by  yield- 
ing so  far,  he  might  induce  her  to  reconsider  that  resolve  of  hers 
that  they  should  not  meet  again.  He  was  an  acute  young  man, 
after  all ;  and  he  saw  what  an  advantageous  position  it  would  be 
for  him  to  become  her  only  friend.  He  would  make  a  show  of 
furthering  even  her  wildest  projects,  for  the  present. 

He  had  never  been  madly  in  love  with  this  girl ;  but,  so  far  as 
his  nature  allowed  him,  he  had  cherished  a  high  regard  for  her ; 
he  had  warmly  admired  her  good  looks  and  fine  figure;  he  had 
even  been  fascinated,  in  a  way,  by  her  high  courage  and  frank- 
ness ;  and  his  imagination  had  at  one  time  painted  pleasant  pict- 
ures of  her  seated  at  the  head  of  his  dinner-table.  Now  once  more 
that  fancy  flitted  before  his  mental  vision.  She  was  alone ;  she 
was  friendless ;  she  was  living  in  poor  lodgings  (he  had  tracked 
her  home  twice,  and  made  all  sorts  of  inquiries  about  her,  before 
actually  confronting  her) ;  she  was  a  woman,  and  surely  subject 
to  persuasion. 

15 


338  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  and  he  stopped  for  a  moment,  "  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  not  to  let  a  human  being  know — until  you 
give  me  leave.     Will  that  do  ?" 

She  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly.  She  was  grateful  to 
him. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  somewhat  sadly,  "before  we  part — and 
you  must  never  seek  to  see  me  again — will  you  tell  me  something 
about — about  my  friends  ?  It  will  be  the  last  that  I  shall  hear  of 
them,  I  suppose." 

"Violet,"  said  he,  with  more  impulse  than  was  common  with 
him,  "  I  can  not  bear  to  see  you  so  miserable — you  have  not  de- 
served it." 

"  I  am  not  miserable,"  she  said.  "  I  should  be  more  miserable 
if  I  were  causing  pain  to  those  whom  I  love.  And  as  for  what  I 
have  deserved — well,  who  can  tell  that  ?  I  don't  see  any  one  who 
gets  just  what  he  deserves.  I  know  those  who  ought  to  have 
every  thing  in  the  world,  because  they  lead  such  noble  and  beau- 
tiful lives—" 

He  knew  well  to  whom  she  was  referring. 

"  — and  I  know  others — well,  you  may  call  them  unlucky,  per- 
haps, but  they  are  not  so  distressed  about  their  misery  as  they 
might  be — if  only  they  know — " 

A  sort  of  stifled  sob  arrested  his  attention.  He  had  not  seen 
that,  underneath  her  veil,  tears  had  been  stealthily  running  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  sorry.  And  I  don't  understand 
why  you  should  be  unhappy.  Nobody  would  have  thought  you 
were  born  one  of  the  unlucky  ones." 

"  I  am  not  unhappy,"  she  asserted,  making  an  effort  to  regain 
her  composure.  "  Tell  me  how  my  father  is.  Is  he  in  London  ? 
Have  you  been  to  Euston  Square  lately  ?" 

He  told  her  all  he  knew  of  the  North  family ;  and,  indeed,  he 
was  pretty  well  acquainted  with  them,  for  he  called  upon  Lady 
North  and  her  daughters  regularly.     Then  he  paused. 

"And  Mr.  Drummond — how  is  he?"  she  asked,  calmly,  as  they 
walked  along. 

"  He  has  been  very  ill." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  some  pain  had  throbbed  through 
her  heart. 

"Is  he  ill  now?     Is  he  better?" 


TIDINGS.  339 

"  Well,"  said  he,  telling  an  untruth  that  he  had  deliberately 
prepared,  "  I  haven't  exactly  heard  lately.  It  was  rheumatic  fe- 
ver, I  believe ;  he  has  been  walking  a  great  deal  at  night,  and  he 
got  wet  once  or  twice — " 

"But — but  you  say  he  is  better?"  she  said,  and  there  Avas  an 
urgent  entreaty  in  her  voice. 

"  I  can't  exactly  tell  you,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  not  been 
over  there  since  they  returned  from  Scotland  ;  I  only  hear  of  them 
through  Lady  North.     But,  if  you  like,  I  will  make  inquiries." 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  she  said,  eagerly. 

"And  I  can  come  and  tell  you." 

"  When — to-morrow  ?     Can  you  ask  to-morrow  ?" 

He  had  gained  his  point.     She  was  to  see  him  again. 

"  Yes,  I  can  make  inquiries  to-morrow,  and  let  you  know  in  the 
evening.  Where  shall  I  see  you  ?  Can  I  call  at  your  lodgings — 
or  is  there  any  friend's  house — " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "  We  must  meet  here,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  At  the  same  hour  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  now  shall  I  walk  up  with  you  to  Titchfield  Street?" 

She  stared  at  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  live  there  ?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  apology,  "  I  had  to  make  sure 
before  I  spoke  to  you  :  I  was  anxious  not  to  make  any  mistake — " 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  said  she,  and  she  held  out  her  hand.  "  You 
know  you  have  given  me  your  word  of  honor  that  no  human  be- 
ing shall  know  what  you  have  found  out." 

And  so  they  parted ;  but  she,  instead  of  going  straight  to  her 
lodgings  in  Great  Titchfield  Street,  walked  with  surprising  swift- 
ness to  Mrs.  Roberts's  hotel.  She  found  that  buxom  dame  disen- 
gaged, and  begged  a  few  minutes'  talk  of  her.  When  they  were 
in  a  room  together,  she  quickly  asked  her  companion  to  tell  her 
all  she  knew  about  rheumatic  fever.  Was  it  dangerous?  Did  it 
last  long?     Was  it  painful ?    What  brought  it  on  ?    And  so  forth. 

Most  middle-aged  women  are  extremely  proud  of  their  knowl- 
edge of  diseases,  and  like  to  talk  about  them.  Mrs.  Roberts,  won- 
dering not  a  little  at  the  extreme  anxiety  the  girl  showed,  de- 
livered a  rambling  sort  of  lecture  on  rheumatic  fever,  its  causes, 
symptoms,  and  results. 


340  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  But — but  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  the  girl,  piteously, 
"that  it  always  leaves  behind  it  the  seeds  of  lung -disease  or 
heart-disease  I" 

"  Oh  no,  not  always." 

"  One  might  recover  from  it,  and  become  quite  strong  again  ?" 
she  said,  eagerly. 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly."' 

"  Especially  if  one  were  a  man  with  a  sound  constitution,  who 
had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  walking  much  in  the  open  air — 
very  much  indeed.  I  should  think,  now,  it  was  quite  possible  for 
a  man  to  recover  completely,  and  be  quite  as  well  as  ever  ?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  landlady,  with  increasing  wonder. 

The  girl  sat  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Is  it  so  very,  very  painful,  Mrs.  Roberts  ?"  she  said,  suddenly, 
with  her  hands  clasped  on  her  knees  before  her.  "  What  can  you 
do  ?  Is  there  any  thing  you  can  do  ?  Can  you  buy  any  thing  for 
one  who  has  that  fever — and  take  him  any  thing — " 

Some  wild  notion  that  she  would  like  to  buy  all  the  world,  if 
only  that  would  mitigate  the  sufferings  of  her  friend,  crossed  the 
brain  of  this  millionaire,  this  Croesus,  who  had  fifteen  pounds  ster- 
ling in  her  trunk. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Roberts,  looking  at  her,  "  not  unless  he  was  a 
poor  man ;  and  then  you  could  see  he  had  a  good  doctor,  and 
money  for  the  little  delicacies  an  invalid  needs." 

"  He  is  not  that,"  she  said,  absently. 

A  short  time  thereafter  she  took  her  leave,  thanking  Mrs. 
Roberts  for  her  kindness.  She  walked  across  to  Great  Titchfield 
Street,  and  entered  the  house.  As  she  was  going  up-stairs  she 
met  her  landlady's  son,  a  small  boy  of  ten  or  so,  and  she  said  to 
him, 

"Tommy,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  Come  into 
my  room,  will  you  ?" 

She  lighted  the  gas,  got  out  a  sheet  of  paper,  pen,  and  ink, 
and  placed  these  on  the  table. 

"  Now,  Tommy,"  said  she,  "  I  want  you  to  write  something  for 
me,  like  a  good  boy,  and  you  shall  have  tea  with  me  afterward." 

Tommy  did  not  quite  understand,  but  he  obediently  sat  down 
at  the  table,  and  took  the  pen  in  hand. 

"  Write  straight  across  the  page,  '  These  flowers.'  " 

"  These  flowers,"  the  boy  wrote. 


IN    A    THEATRE.  341 

"  '  Are  sent  to  Mr.  Drummond.'  " 

"  Are  sent  to  Mr.  Drummond,"  he  wrote  in  his  big,  sprawling 
hand. 

"  '  From  one.'  " 

"  From  one." 

"'Who  received.'" 

"  Who  received." 

"  '  Great  kindness  from  him.'  " 

"  Great  kindness  from  him." 

She  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  behind  him  as  she  dictated  the 
words ;  he  with  his  head  bent  over  the  paper.  As  she  did  not 
continue,  he  remained  waiting  for  a  second  or  two ;  and  then,  as 
she  was  still  silent,  he  turned  round.  He  saw  then  that  she  had 
fallen  back  on  the  couch,  and  was  lying  there  as  one  dead,  her 
face  of  a  ghastly  pallor,  her  arms  extended  by  her  side.  The 
small  boy  was  terribly  frightened,  and  he  ran  out  of  the  room, 
and  down  the  stairs,  until  he  found  his  mother. 

"She's  dead!"  he  said. 

"  Who  is  dead  ?"  the  woman  cried,  with  a  slight  scream. 

"  The  lady.     She  is  lying  dead  on  the  sofa." 

It  was  not  true,  however,  that  the  girl  was  dead.  No  such 
good  fortune  had  befallen  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IN    A    THEATRE. 


Miller  had  heard  quite  recently  about  Mr.  Drummond,  but 
he  thought  he  might  as  well  go  up  and  call  upon  the  Norths, 
just  on  the  chance  of  their  having  received  later  news.  So  he 
went  to  Euston  Square  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  his 
interview  with  Violet,  and  there  he  was  received  by  Anatolia. 

"Mamma  has  just  left,"  she  said,  "to  go  and  sec  how  Mr. 
Drummond  is.     I  fear  he  is  very  ill." 

"  I  must  go  and  call  on  him  too,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
some  compunction.  "  We  were  not  very  good  friends  when  we 
parted  in  the  Highlands ;  but  one  must  not  mind  that  at  such  a 
time." 

"That  was  a  terrible  thing,  that  visit  to  the  Highlands,"  said 


342  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

Anatolia,  with  a  sigh,  for  the  girl,  unlovely  as  she  was  of  face, 
had  a  tender  heart.  "  Poor  Violet !  We  never  knew  how  fond 
we  were  of  her  until  she  was  taken  away  from  us.  I  suppose  it 
is  always  so.  Papa  has  never  been  the  same  man  since ;  I  doubt 
whether  he  will  ever  get  over  it.  He  was  fonder  of  her  than 
of  any  of  us.  And  Mr.  Drummond,  too.  Do  you  know  what 
his  sister  told  us? — that  no  one,  since  Violet  was  drowned,  has 
ever  seen  him  laugh." 

Miller  knew  that  his  face  was  flushed  with  embarrassment ;  he 
got  away  from  that  dangerous  topic. 

"  It  is  true,  I  suppose,  that  he  brought  this  fever  on  by  walk- 
ing about  at  night  ?" 

"  So  his  sister  says.  She  says  he  always  grew  restless  in  the 
evening,  just  about  the  hour  when  they  used  to  gather  round  the 
fire :  that  was  when  Violet  was  living  with  them,  and  when  they 
used  to  begin  to  talk  and  chat.  And  lie  could  not  remain  quiet ; 
he  would  suddenly  get  up,  and  put  on  his  boots,  and  go  out — no 
matter  whether  it  was  raining  or  not — and  they  never  knew  at 
what  hour  he  would  return  in  the  morning.  Sometimes  they 
found  his  clothes  in  the  morning  soaked  through." 

"  Well,  that  was  enough  to  kill  any  body,"  Miller  said,  he  be- 
ing a  sensible  young  man,  "  and  he  ought  to  have  known  that. 
It  was  madness  to  go  on  like  that  —  I  can  not  understand  it. 
People  are  really  very  foolish  about  such  things.  You  will  find 
women — delicate  women — going  without  any  thing  to  eat  from 
ten  in  the  morning  till  half-past  seven  at  night,  simply  because 
they  won't  take  the  trouble  to  order  luncheon.  Now,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond must  have  known  that  he  was  inviting  an  attack  of  illness 
of  some  sort." 

"  It  was  very  strange  how  passionately  fond  of  these  people 
poor  Violet  was.  They  seemed  to  make  up  the  whole  of  the 
world  to  her.  And  it  was  so  sad  to  think  that  she  came  by  her 
death  through  their  kindness.  You  know,  that  is  what  troubles 
papa  so  much,  I  believe — the  thought  that  he  should  have  allow- 
ed her  to  go  away  with  them  by  herself ;  but  mamma  says  to 
him  that,  of  course,  it  was  a  pure  accident,  such  as  might  have 
happened  to  any  one,  in  any  circumstances.  I  believe  Mrs.  War- 
rener  was  always  against  that  bathing." 

"  Still,  it  was  not  the  bathing,  you  know,"  he  said ;  and  then, 
after  a  few  general  inquiries,  he  left. 


IN    A    THEATRE.  343 

He  met  Violet  in  Great  Marlborough  Street,  and  lie  could  see 
that  she  was  very  anxious  and  excited. 

"  How  is  he  ?"  she  said,  eagerly. 

"  He  is  no  worse,  anyhow,"  said  the  young  man.  "  But  look 
here,  Violet.  I  have  been  thinking,  since  I  saw  you  last  night, 
that  we  can  not  walk  up  and  down  here — I  can  not  talk  to  you 
properly ;  and,  besides,  some  one  might  see  you.  Now,  I  went 
this  afternoon  and  got  a  box  at  the  Princess's — it  is  just  over  the 
way :  will  you  go  in  there  for  half  an  hour?" 

The  proposal  had  something  ghastly  in  it,  from  which  she  in- 
stinctively recoiled.  To  go  to  a  theatre  ? — she  who  was  wedded 
to  sorrow,  and  the  companion  of  sorrow. 

"  I  could  not  do  that,"  she  said,  almost  shuddering. 

"  But  look  here,  Violet ;  no  one  can  see  you  :  we  shall  be  able 
to  talk  freely;  and  you  need  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  the 
stage." 

"  They  will  see  me  as  we  go  in,"  she  said. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Your  veil  is  so  thick  that  no  one  would 
recognize  you,  unless  he  was  as  familiar  with  your  way  of  walk- 
ing as  I  am.  We  have  only  to  run  up  a  few  steps  of  a  stair,  and 
then  we  are  in  the  box,  shut  off  from  every  one,  and  you  can  sit 
comfortably  while  I  tell  you  all  the  news." 

She  hesitated;  but,  after  all,  it  seemed  the  lesser  of  the  two 
evils.  She  did  not  at  all  like  this  business  of  meeting  a  young 
man  by  appointment,  and  walking  up  and  down  a  pavement  with 
him  under  the  flashing  glare  of  the  gas-lamps.  She  might  be 
safer  in  the  theatre.  Besides,  the  excitement  of  the  previous 
evening  had  left  her  feverish  and  weak ;  at  the  present  moment 
she  felt  almost  too  tired  to  stand.  And  so,  with  some  strange 
fancies  and  recollections  running  through  her  head,  she  suffered 
herself  to  be  conducted  into  this  theatre,  led  up  the  stairs,  and 
into  the  box. 

The  performances  had  not  begun,  and  there  were  few  people 
present ;  but  the  orchestra  were  pounding  away  at  a  noisy  waltz, 
as  if  they  would  drive  some  animation  into  the  deserted  house. 
How  the  great  violins  groaned,  and  the  little  one  squealed,  and 
the  brazen  instruments  trumpeted  out  their  staccato  notes !  To 
her  there  was  a  horrible  dissonance  in  this  music ;  it  was  a  dance 
of  death — the  laughter  of  skulls. 

And   in   the   midst  of  this  ghastly  noise  she  heard   all    that 


344  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

George  Miller  had  to  tell  her,  or,  rather,  all  that  lie  considered  it 
prudent  to  tell  her.  He  did  not  consider  himself  bound  to  tell 
Violet  of  what  Mrs.  AVarrener  had  told  Anatolia  North ;  Violet 
had  not  sent  him  on  that  quest ;  it  was  none  of  his  business. 
She  listened  with  an  air  of  mute  misery ;  her  first  eager  anxiety- 
had  been  sadly  allayed. 

The  curtain  was  drawn  up ;  a  young  man  with  white  trousers 
and  his  hat  on  the  side  of  his  head  appeared  in  a  drawing-room, 
and  began  to  flirt  with  a  pert  maid-servant,  who  was  laying  the 
breakfast-table.  Perhaps  it  is  only  in  theatrical  drawing-rooms 
that  young  gentlemen  wear  their  hats,  and  that  people  take  their 
meals ;  but  no  matter.  The  dialogue  was  excessively  funny. 
The  gods  roared  at  it.  There  was  a  joke  about  giving  a  bun  to 
a  cat,  which  was  side-splitting. 

"But  you  have  not  seen  him  to-day?"  said  Violet.  She  was 
sitting  behind  the  curtain  of  the  box,  her  head  bent  down,  her 
hands  tightly  folded. 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  not  been  over  there 
since  they  came  back  from  the  Highlands.  But  I  will  go  over 
to-morrow,  and  in  the  evening  I  could  tell  you." 

He  was  more  and  more  rendering  himself  necessary  to  her: 
when  he  made  this  proposal,  she  scarcely  remembered  that  it 
would  involve  another  appointment. 

"  It  is  so  miserable  not  to  be  able  to  go  and  see  him  for  one's 
self:  I  would  give  my  life  just  to  shake  hands  with  him  once — 
only  once,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  almost  of  despair.  "Per- 
haps it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  gone  away  without  hear- 
ing of  his  being  ill.  I  can  do  nothing.  And  now  I  can  not  go 
away  until  I  know  he  is  better;  I  should  be  haunted  with  fears 
from  morning  till  night." 

"  But  where  are  you  going,  Violet  ?"  said  he,  in  amazement. 
There  was  something  about  the  tone  of  her  voice  that  struck  him. 

"I  am  going  away,"  she  said,  simply;  "away  from  England, 
and  from  every  one  that  I  ever  knew,  so  that  I  shall  remain  to 
them  as  if  I  were  really  dead.  When  I  die,  they  will  never  hear 
of  it.  When  I  leave  England,  you  too  must  think  of  me  as  one 
that  is  dead." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  crash  on  the  stage  that  startled 
him.  The  young  man  in  the  light  trousers,  to  escape  from  the 
broom  of  the  maid  -  servant,  had  jumped  out  of  window,  and 


IN    A    THEATRE.  345 

apparently  fallen  through  a  conservatory.  There  was  a  great 
smashing  of  glass ;  and  the  people  in  the  gallery  again  screamed 
with  laughter.     The  fun  was  too  rich. 

"  Oh,  that  is  folly,"  he  said ;  but  he  thought  it  prudent  not  to 
argue  with  her  just  at  that  moment.  He  would*  rather  endeavor 
to  entangle  her  into  relations  with  himself ;  and  just  then  a  hap- 
py notion  occurred  to  him. 

"  Look  here,  Violet.  It  is  only  half  -  past  seven.  If  you  are 
so  anxious  to  know  how  he  is,  what  do  you  say  to  driving  over 
there  with  me,  and  I  will  go  in  and  ask?  I  could  get  you  a 
hired  carriage  in  about  twenty  minutes — that  would  be  so  much 
more  comfortable  than  a  cab.  You  will  have  to  go  home  first, 
in  any  case — to  have  your  tea  or  dinner,  or  whatever  you  have. 
Then  I  could  call  for  you." 

It  was  a  strong  temptation  ;  she  was  so  eager  to  have  authentic 
news  of  her  friend  in  his  trouble.  And  then  there  was  some  sort 
of  fascination  in  the  idea  of  her  being  near  him — of  seeing  once 
more  the  familiar  small  house — of  looking,  even  from  the  outside, 
at  rooms  which  she  had  learned  to  love.     Yes,  she  would  go. 

"But  you  must  not  call  for  me,"  she  said.  "At  eight  o'clock 
I  will  be  at  the  corner  of  Oxford  Street  and  Great  Portland 
Street :  will  that  do  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

They  left  the  box.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  artists  on  the 
stage  were  not  insulted :  these  two  who  were  going  away  had  no 
intention  of  expressing  their  disapproval  of  that  mirth-provoking 
performance. 

Punctually  at  eight  she  appeared  at  the  appointed  place ;  and 
she  had  not  to  wait  more  than  a  minute  or  so. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  she  said,  when  she  got  inside,  "  that 
I  must  not  go  near  the  house.  Will  you  tell  the  man  to  drive 
up  Denmark  Hill,  and  put  me  out  at  Champion  Hill  ?  I  will 
wait  for  you  there." 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  like,  Violet,"  said  he.  "  But  I  really 
don't  know,  mind  you,  whether  I  am  right  in  becoming  a  party 
to  all  this  secrecy.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  my  life.  I 
can't  understand  it." 

She  did  not  answer  that  there  were  many  things  which  even 
Mr.  Miller,  with  all  his  shrewdness  and  his  knowledge  of  club  life, 
could  not  understand.     She  answered,  simply, 

15* 


346  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  You  have  given  me  your  promise.  I  hope  you  are  not  con- 
sidering whether  you  would  be  justified  in  breaking  that?" 

"Oh  no,  not  at  all,"  said  he,  quickly.  "Of  course,  you  have 
my  promise.    That's  quite  right.    But  really,  you  know,  Violet — " 

"  Would  you  rather  not  drive  me  over  to  Champion  Hill?"  she 
said.  "  If  it  is  any  trouble  to  you — if  you  think  you  ought  not 
to  go — pray  stop  the  man  at  once.  I  can  walk  back  to  my  lodg- 
ings." 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  and  there  was  a  friendly  smile  on  his  face, 
"  vou  are  just  the  same  as  ever.  Do  you  remember  one  drive  we 
took  together,  long  ago  ?  Do  you  remember  proposing  to  stop 
the  man  before  we  had  been  ten  minutes  on  the  way  ?  You  were 
always  proud  and  quick.  Now,  you  know  I  will  do  any  thing  to 
serve  you.  It  was  in  your  own  interest  I  remonstrated  with  you. 
Why  should  you  go  away  ?  Why  shouldn't  you  tell  your  friends  ? 
They  would  be  delighted  to  forgive  you  for  all  the  grief  they 
have  suffered  in  the  gladness  of  seeing  you  again." 

The  gentleness  and  friendliness  of  his  speech  touched  her ;  but 
she  only  said,  in  a  sad  and  resigned  way, 

"  You  do  not  know  all  that  drove  me  to  take  that  step ;  it  is 
no  use  speaking  of  that  now.  Yes,  I  remember  that  drive — it 
seems  a  long  time  ago ;  but  I  always  think  of  the  day  as  a  white 
one,  the  air  was  so  clear  and  full  of  light.  What  children  we 
were  —  quarreling  about  nothing,  and  enjoying  the  mischief  of 
running  away !  My  father  was  very  good  to  you,  in  overlooking 
that  escapade.  I  think  he  was  amused  at  the  audacity  with 
which  you  went  and  told  him  all  about  it.  You  did  not  see  him 
to-day  ?" 

"  No." 

"Poor  papa!" 

She  remained  silent  for  some  time;  and  by-and-by  they  got 
down  to  Westminster  Bridge.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen 
the  river  since  her  visit  to  Scotland.  Now  a  faint  moonlight 
showed  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  the  Embankment,  and  the 
broad  stream  in  hues  of  blue  and  gray ;  and  there  were  far  lines 
of  gas -lamps  burning  like  threaded  jewels  of  gold;  and  there 
were  rich,  soft  shadows  lying  along  the  houses  and  wharves  of 
the  Surrey  side. 

"  I  have  seen  the  river  so  often  like  that ;  it  is  a  beautiful 
sight,"  she  said,  absently.     She  was  thinking  that,  in  the  distant 


AN    EPITAPH.  347 

country  to  which  she  was  going,  she  would  be  able  to  conjure  up 
this  picture  of  blue-gray  mist  and  golden  stars. 

When  they  drove,  too,  out  by  Kennington  church,  and  so  on- 
Avard  to  Denmark  Hill,  she  seemed  to  be  renewing  acquaintance 
with  scenes  once  familiar  to  her,  and  doing  so  only  to  bid  them 
good-bye.  Perhaps  she  was  looking  at  them  for  the  last  time  :  or 
could  she  not  come  over  once  more — just  on  the  eve  of  her  de- 
parture— to  leave  those  flowers,  and  the  rudely  written  message, 
at  the  threshold  of  the  house  of  her  friend  and  her  beloved  one, 
as  a  mute  token  of  farewell  ? 

Under  the  great  trees,  up  here  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  there 
was  abundant  shadow,  and  she  got  out  from  the  carriage. 

"Sha'n't  you  be  afraid  to  remain  here  all  by  yourself  ?"  said  he. 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  I  may  be  some  time — " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  quickly.  "  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  see 
him,  and  tell  me  how  he  looks,  and  what  he  speaks  about.  I  will 
wait  any  time — I  will  wait  an  hour,  if  that  is  necessary ;  and  in- 
deed I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you." 

He  left  her,  and  she  continued  pacing  up  and  down,  under  the 
trees,  in  the  chill  night.  Then  she  walked  along  to  the  top  of 
Green  Lane ;  and,  behold  !  before  her  stretched  the  broad  valley, 
filled  with  the  gray  mist  of  the  moonlight,  and  silent  as  death. 
The  old  refrain  came  back  to  her,  to  deepen  the  sore  pain  at  her 
heart:  "Far  away — in  the  beautiful  meadows  —  is  the  house  of 
my  home.  Many  a  time  I  went  out  from  it  into  the  valley.  O 
you  beautiful  valley — I  greet  you  a  thousand  times.  Farewell — 
farewell !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN    EPITAPH. 


Mrs.  Warrener  came  into  the  room  looking  pale  and  tired. 
She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning — that  was  for  Violet.  And 
when  she  saw  this  young  man  standing  before  her,  she  was  for  a 
moment  or  two  deeply  moved.  It  was  in  very  different  circum- 
stances— which  his  presence  now  instantly  recalled  to  her — that 
they  had  last  met. 


348  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  made  no  apology  to  her  for  not  having  visited  them  be- 
fore ;  he  felt  that  any  personal  matter  of  his  own  was  too  trivial 
to  need  mention.  He  said  how  sorry  he  was  to  have  heard  that 
her  brother  was  ill ;  and  how  Avas  he  now  ? 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  the  small,  pale,  anxious-eyed  wom- 
an. "  He  is  just  about  the  same  this  evening.  He  is  very  low 
indeed ;  but  the  doctor  says  he  must  have  had  a  fine  constitu- 
tion, and  he  is  making  a  good  fight.  You  see,  he  brought  him- 
self down  so  by  these  walkings-out  at  night ;  and  we  could  not 
prevent  him — " 

"  Of  course,  there  is  no  actual  danger?"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  think  not  now,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  think  he  is  well  on 
the  turn ;  but  his  mind  wanders  a  good  deal  yet.  Well,  well ! 
some  sad  changes  have  taken  place  since  we  last  saw  you,  Mr. 
Miller." 

The  little  woman  sighed ;  it  was  not  alone  of  her  brother  she 
was  thinking. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  rather  uncomfortably.  He  hoped  she  would 
not  speak  about  Violet. 

"  It  is  only  quite  recently,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  have  dis- 
covered—  well,  perhaps  there  is  no  use  talking  about  it  now. 
What  might  have  been,  if  our  poor  Violet  had  lived  —  there  is 
not  much  use  in  talking  about  that  now.  But  it  made  me  very 
unhappy  at  the  time,  to  see  you  and  her  at  cross-purposes.  I  could 
see  that  she  was  greatly  troubled  by  it.     She  is  at  rest  now." 

"Well,  I  must  not  take  you  away  from  the  sick-room,  Mrs. 
Warrener,  if  you  are  attending  upon  your  brother,"  said  Mr. 
Miller. 

"  I  am  not  at  present,"  she  said — somehow  she  seemed  to  be 
glad  of  the  young  man's  presence ;  he  was  a  link  between  her  and 
happy  times.  "The  nurse  has  gone  in.  Lady  North  Avas  over 
here  to-day.  They  have  given  up  all  hope  of  finding  poor  Vio- 
let's body.  If  she  Avere  alive,  I  know  where  the  poor  girl  would 
be  at  this  moment.  And  how  my  brother  talks  about  her  in  his 
rambling  fancies — he  sees  her  everywhere,  he  connects  her  with 
every  thing.  Yes,  I  made  a  great  mistake  about  that ;  I  had  no 
idea  his  love  for  the  girl  was  any  thing  beyond  a  friendly  affec- 
tion ;  but  even  if  she  had  lived,  Avhat  then  ?  The  only  thing  I 
am  sorry  for  now  is  that  you  and  she  had  not  made  up  your 
misunderstanding  before  the  end." 


AN    EPITAPH.  349 

When  she  said  she  knew  where  Violet  would  be  at  that  mo- 
ment, supposing  the  girl  were  alive,  a  sort  of  superstitious  fear 
overcame  him.  He  could  almost  imagine  her  listening  outside 
the  window  to  hear  the  news  of  her  friend.  If  some  one  had 
knocked  at  the  door  just  then,  he  would  have  jumped  up  and 
said,  "  There  is  Violet !" 

"  I  suppose  I  could  not  see  him  for  a  minute  or  so,"  he  said, 
for  he  was  determined  to  execute  his  commission  thoroughly. 

"  Oh  dear,  yes,"  she  said,  at  once.  "  But  I  am  afraid  he  will 
not  recognize  you.  The  delirium  has  been  rather  bad  this  even- 
ing, though  he  is  not  nearly  so  weak  as  he  was.  Will  you  please 
leave  your  hat  here  ? — a  black  hat  always  sets  him  off  into  fan- 
cies about  undertakers." 

He  followed  her  into  the  sick-room ;  and,  as  they  entered,  the 
nurse  left.  There  was  no  need  for  the  young  man  to  walk  so 
noiselessly ;  the  long,  outstretched  figure  on  the  bed  took  no  ap- 
parent notice  of  his  presence.  But  young  Miller  went  over  to 
the  bed,  and  took  up  one  of  the  thin,  bony  hands,  and  said, 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  getting  better,  Mr.  Drummond." 

There  was  no  languid  indifference  and  apathy  about  this  pa- 
tient. The  cheeks  were  a  trifle  hollow,  but  they  were  flushed  as 
if  with  some  excitement :  and  there  was  a  brilliant  light  in  the 
large,  restless,  scrutinizing  eyes ;  and,  as  George  Miller  spoke,  an 
amused  smile  came  to  the  thin  and  pale  lips. 

"  You  are  young  Miller,  I  do  believe  ?"  said  Mr.  Drummond, 
looking  curiously  at  his  visitor. 

"Yes.  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  have  got  over  the  worst  now," 
said  the  young  man,  saying  what  every  one  is  supposed  to  say  to 
an  invalid.  "  You  must  pull  yourself  together  now,  and  fight  the 
illness  right  out  of  the  house." 

"  I  had  a  strange  dream  about  you,  young  Miller,"  said  the  sick 
man,  not  heeding  the  counsel,  "  a  very  strange  dream  about  you 
to-day,  and  about  your  cigars.  Do  you  remember  that  big  cigar 
that  stretched  across  the  valley  from  Sydenham  Hill  all  the  way 
to  Grove  Park ;  and  you  couldn't  have  held  it  up  except  for  the 
moonlight  helping  you — that  was  when  Violet  and  the  rest  of  us 
were  walking  on  the  ice,  and  you  said  that  Chamounix  was  noth- 
ing to  it.  Do  you  know  that  stamping  out  the  fire  in  the  end  of 
that  cigar  was  murder— the  poor,  piteous,  small  red  eye  that  you 
have  to  hunt  for,  and  it  comes  through  the  black  again,  and  you 


350  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

kill  it  and  stamp  on  it :  that  is  murder.  These  dreams  trouble 
one  so !  and  after  you  have  crept  and  crept  all  round  the  head- 
land— creeping  flat  through  the  brackens — and  you  signal  Jimmy 
to  bring  the  boat  along — then  all  the  curlew  get  up,  and  a  great 
heron  rises,  with  its  long  legs  hanging  down  in  the  air;  then  just 
as  you  have  him  covered  with  the  gun,  and  you  are  trying  to 
pull  the  trigger,  and  the  trigger  won't  go  off,  then  down  goes  the 
heron  into  the  water,  and  dives  like  a  merganser,  and  you  never 
see  him  again.  The  water  becomes  quite  blank  then ;  and  you 
may  walk  day  after  day  along  the  rocks,  and  you  will  see  nothing 
at  all  there ;  you  will  only  hear  the  plashing  of  the  waves,  and 
they  know,  but  they  will  not  give  up  the  secret.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing,  the  silence  of  the  shores,  just  after  day -break,  if  you  are 
alone,  and  looking  and  looking,  and  finding  nothing  but  the  con- 
tinual noise  of  the  waves." 

His  eyes  had  wandered  away  by  this  time ;  but  he  again  di- 
rected his  attention  to  his  visitor,  and  seemed  to  make  some  ef- 
fort to  arouse  himself. 

"  Young  Miller,  why  don't  you  sit  down  ?  Sarah,  have  we  no 
wine  in  the  house  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  I  would  rather  not  have  any,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  You  must  try  and  get  rid  of  those  dreams,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond.  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  them.  You  know  Christmas 
is  coming  on  now ;  and  you  must  get  well  and  strong,  to  have  a 
merry  Christmas  party." 

"  Is  he  coming  along  ?"  he  said,  absently.  "  The  tall  white 
man  in  the  winding-sheet.  That  is  a  ghastly  sort  of  figure  to 
come  as  a  guest  to  a  party;  and  there  is  snow  about  him,  and  he 
walks  through  the  night  —  through  the  night,  and  then  the  stars 
are  as  silent  as  the  waves  are,  and  they  will  not  give  up  the  seci'et 
to  you :  you  may  cry  to  them,  and  stretch  out  your  hands  to 
them — it  is  no  use  at  all — " 

His  sister  came  over  to  him,  and  placed  her  cool  hand  gently 
on  his  forehead. 

"  James,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  talk  any  more  now.  You 
must  be  still." 

He  turned  to  his  visitor,  whom  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize 
now. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  if  I  have  been  talking  too  much.  It 
is  an  old  failing  of  mine — I  hope  you  will  forgive  me.     There 


AN    EPITAPH.  351 

was  one  once  who  used  to  like  to  listen  to  me — at  least  I  thought 
so — she  is  gone  away  now :  perhaps  I  am  too  talkative  to  stran- 
gers." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  short  time,  but  only  for  a  short  time ; 
for  the  restless  fancy  that  drove  him  from  topic  to  topic,  from 
one  speculation  to  another,  in  his  moments  of  health  and  sanity, 
was  rendered  all  the  more  morbidly  active  by  this  disease. 

"  Sarah,"  said  he,  quickly,  "  I  want  you  to  read  me  that  epitaph 
— I  think  there  is  something  wrong  in  it — I  am  sure  there  is. 
I  am  sorry  to  give  you  the  trouble ;  but  I  must  finish  it  to-night, 
you  know." 

To  humor  him,  she  took  down  a  card  that  he  had  nailed  up 
over  the  mantel-piece.  It  was  an  epitaph  on  the  whole  race  of 
publishers.  She  read  it  slowly ;  and  from  time  to  time  he  cor- 
rected her  accentuation  of  the  Latin. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said,  dreamily,  "  it  is  all  wrong.  That  was 
not  what  I  meant  at  all.  Now,  Sarah,  take  a  pen  and  some  pa- 
per, and  I  will  tell  you  what  to  write  down." 

"  No,  no,  James,"  his  sister  remonstrated  ;  "  another  time  will 
do  very  well.     You  must  be  still  now." 

"  It  will  only  take  a  minute,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  have  it  all 
ready  ;  I  have  dreamed  it.     I  knew  the  other  was  all  wrong." 

"  Leave  it  over  till  to-morrow,"  said  young  Miller,  gently ;  but 
the  sick  man  paid  no  attention  to  him. 

So  Mrs.  Warrener  got  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  sat  down  at  the 
small  table. 

"  What  shall  I  write,  then,  James  ?" 

"  It  is  the  epitaph ;  but  not  in  Latin  ;  for  it  ought  to  be  known 
and  read  by  every  one.     Write  now — are  you  ready,  Sarah  ?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  The  sea  that  bore  her  away  from  us  was  not  half  as  clear  as 
her  clear  and  beautiful  soul." 

He  paused  till  the  words  were  down;  and  then  he  went  on, 
his  look  still  directed  toward  her. 

"  'And  the  dark  softness  of  her  eyes  was  large,  and  mild,  and 
generous,  like  the  darkness  of  the  night  when  it  hushes  the  poor 
tired  children  of  the  world  to  sleep.  Now  she  has  gone,  to  some 
of  us  it  seems  as  if  the  very  light  of  our  life  had  gone  too — ' 
Sarah,  why  do  you  cry  ?  The  bitterness  of  it  is  past  now ;  at 
least,  if  it  is  not,  it  must  be  hidden  ;  and  we  must  put  a  brave 


352  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

face  on  it ;  the  world  shall  have  no  part  in  the  secret,  even  if  it 
should  lie  like  a  fire  in  your  bosom,  and  burn,  and  burn,  and 
drive  you  out  into  the  cold  night-air.  I  think  it  was  last  night  I 
was  out ....  and  there  was  a  voice  I  could  hear  somewhere  in  the 

dark — but  it  was  far  and  far  away Do  you  know  what  it 

said  ? — '  Oh,  Willie's  gane  to  Melville  Castle,  boot  and  spurs  and 
a' ' — but  it  was  far  away,  and  there  was  no  laughing  in  the  song. 
But  they  had  a  great  deal  of  laughter  in  these  songs ;  and  in  the 
old  time  lovers  were  gay  and  joyous,  and  even  when  he  was  part- 
ing from  his  sweetheart,  what  did  the  jovial  fellow  say  ? 

"  '  Gae  bring  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 
And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie, 
That  I  may  drink,  before  I  go, 
A  service  to  my  bonny  lassie !' 

That  was  the  gallant  way  of  saying  good-bye;  but  it  is  all 
changed  now — the  poor  trembling  girl  stands  in  a  railway-station, 
and  the  whistle  of  the  engine  as  the  train  leaves  seems  to  rend 
her  heart  in  two ;  and  the  young  man,  he  stands  on  the  deck  of 
the  steamer,  and  as  the  engines  begin  to  throb  he  can  see  noth- 
ing of  his  sweetheart  on  shore  for  the  tears  rushing  into  his  eyes. 
The  world  is  very  full  of  all  this  misery.  I  don't  know  how  the 
old  people  in  the  old  times  wrote  those  merry  songs.  But  there 
is  an  end  to  it — there  is  an  end ;  and  the  cruel  pain  in  the  heart 
will  leave ;  and  the  sound  of  the  waves  will  no  longer  haunt  one 
— there  will  be  peace  and  sleep." 

He  turned  his  head  away,  and  lay  still ;  George  Miller  seized 
the  opportunity  of  slipping  out  of  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Warrener 
followed  him,  the  nurse  returning  to  her  duties. 

"  It  is  very  sad,"  said  Miller,  casting  about  for  some  phrase  of 
consolation ;  "  but  he  does  not  appear  to  be  suffering  much 
pain." 

"  Not  now ;  at  one  time  it  was  dreadful.  Did  you  notice  how 
these  fancies  about  poor  Violet  run  through  all  he  says  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  very  strange  —  and  very  sad.  Well,  I  hope,  Mrs. 
Warrener,  to  hear  better  news  when  I  call  next." 

He  bid  her  good-bye,  and  went  out  into  the  chill  December 
air.  The  moonlight  was  clearer  up  here  than  it  had  been  over 
the  Thames  valley:  in  a  few  minutes  after  leaving  Mr.  Drum- 
mond's  house  he  descried  Violet  slowly  pacing  along  the  empty 
thoroughfare.     When  he  reached  her,  her  anxiety  had  so  tort- 


AN    EPITAPH.  353 

ured  her  that  she  was  unable  to  ask  him  the  simplest  question. 
She  only  stared  at  his  face,  as  if  she  would  read  there  what  news 
he  had  to  bring. 

"  He  is  very  ill,  no  doubt,"  said  he,  "  but  not  in  danger — not 
actually  in  danger,  you  know,  Violet.  He  wanders  a  little,  you 
know,  as  a  feverish  person  will,  when  he  speaks  to  you;  but  he 
suffers  not  much  pain  now,  and  I  hope  he  has  got  through  all 
the  worst  of  it." 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  she,  slowly,  "  that  he  is  delirious?" 

"  Well,  yes—" 

"  And  there  is  nothing  one  can  do — nothing  I"  she  said,  almost 
wildly.  "  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  sympathy  with  one 
who  is  ill  ? — it  is  this,  that  if  you  could  save  him  a  single  pang, 
you  would  gash  your  wrist  through  with  a  knife ;  and — and  I 
would  do  that !  Oh,  it  is  terrible — terrible !  Here  we  are  stand- 
ing here — in  a  beautiful  night — every  thing  quiet  and  pleasant, 
and  both  of  us  well  and  strong ;  and  there  he  is  lying  with  that 
deadly  thing  trying  to  poison  him,  and  we  are  quite  helpless !  I 
flung  away  my  friends,  my  home,  every  thing  I  cared  for,  to  save 
him  anxiety  and  care ;  now  his  very  life  is  in  danger,  and  I  can 
do  nothing  at  all !" 

She  was  speaking  in  a  strangely  excited  way ;  but  he  did  not 
fail  to  take  note  of  these  involuntary  confessions.  Perhaps  his 
own  hopes  were  rather  dashed  for  the  time ;  but  he  would  wait 
and  see. 

"  It  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Violet,"  said  he.  "  I  don't 
suppose  his  life  is  actually  in  danger  now ;  and — and  he  does  not 
suffer  much  pain ;  and  altogether  you  must  hope  for  the  best." 

She  seemed  scarcely  to  listen  to  him.  She  stepped  into  the 
carriage,  and  took  her  seat  in  silence,  and  in  silence  she  was 
driven  across  the  great  world  of  London.  His  attempts  to  inter- 
est her  in  various  alien  matters  met  with  but  little  success :  there 
was  a  great  care  at  her  heart ;  and  the  shadow  of  it  clouded  her 
brow  and  troubled  her  anxious  eyes. 


354  MADCAP  VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

PREPARATIONS    FOR   FLIGHT. 

Mr.  George  Miller  Lad  been  plunged  into  all  this  business 
with  much  suddenness,  and  had  had  but  little  time  to  reflect. 
When,  however,  he  came  to  regard  his  position  with  care  and  de- 
liberation, the  longer  he  looked  at  it,  the  less  he  liked  it.  At 
first  he  had  considered  it  to  be  one  of  great  advantage.  He  alone 
knew  of  this  girl's  whereabouts — of  the  very  fact  of  her  existence, 
even ;  what  more  natural  than  that  she,  homeless,  friendless,  and 
penniless,  should  cling  to  this  one  friend,  who,  in  due  course  of 
time,  would  be  proud  to  lead  the  truant  back  as  his  wife?  He 
soon  came  to  see  that  these  speculations  were  useless.  To  her 
he  was  merely  a  messenger,  a  go-between.  She  was  exceedingly 
grateful  to  him ;  but  it  was  only  because  he  brought  her  tidings 
of  James  Drummond.  All  her  interest,  her  very  life,  seemed  to 
be  wrapped  up  in  this  man. 

Now,  George  Miller,  being  a  cool-headed,  shrewd,  sensible  sort 
of  fellow,  when  he  saw  that  matters  stood  thus,  began  to  look 
with  some  anxiety,  and  even  annoyance,  on  the  awkward  responsi- 
bility he  had  incurred.  It  was  all  very  well  for  him  to  promise 
not  to  reveal  Violet's  secret ;  for  then  he  only  wanted  to  gain 
time,  that  so  he  might  talk  her  over.  But  she  would  not  even 
allow  him  to  argue  the  matter  with  her.  So  it  came  to  this,  that 
he  was  to  be  made  an  accomplice  in  an  act  of  cruel  folly  the  like 
of  which  he  had  never  heard  before.  That  he  "  could  not  un- 
derstand," was  to  him  a  sufficient  condemnation  of  Violet's  re- 
solve. He  did  not  see  the  use  of  all  this  mystery.  She  herself 
was  obviously  unhappy  in  going  away.  Why  could  she  not,  like  a 
reasonable  person,  get  into  a  four-wheeled  cab,  drive  up  to  Eus- 
ton  Square,  declare  herself  to  her  father,  and  have  a  comfortable 
luncheon,  instead  of  sitting  all  day  in  a  cold  shop  ?  But  no  ;  she 
would  not  even  hear  him  speak  of  it.  She  had  given  him,  on 
their  first  and  second  meetings,  some  vague  hints  as  to  the  causes 
of  her  conduct ;  beyond  that,  nothing.     And  while  he  was  in- 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT.  355 

clined  to  become  impatient  over  what  he  considered  to  be  her 
folly,  there  were  times  at  which  he  did  not  even  try  to  protest, 
for  he  was  overawed  by  the  tragic  despair  of  her  face. 

If  George  Miller  had  no  love  of  mystery,  Mr.  Edward  Dowse 
had  plenty ;  and  despite  Miller's  reiterated  assertions  that  the 
Miss  Main  in  that  Regent  Street  place  was  not  the  Miss  Main 
whom  he  had  met  in  by-gone  years,  young  Dowse  still  clung  to 
the  fancy  that  Miller  must  know  something  about  the  girl. 

"  Well,  she  knows  somebody  in  this  club,"  said  young  Dowse, 
doggedly. 

George  Miller  was  vexed  and  angry  to  have  Violet  spoken  of 
at  a  club,  even  under  the  name  of  Miss  Main ;  but  he  dared  not 
show  his  vexation. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  f  said  he,  lightly. 

"  From  the  wray  she  looked  whenever  the  club  was  mentioned. 
Oh,  I  am  sure  of  it ;  and  I  shall  find  out,  sooner  or  later." 

"  Write  a  poem  about  it,  Dowse ;  write  a  poem  about  it,"  said 
George  Miller. 

This  was  sarcasm.  Miller  had  a  fine  contempt  for  a  man  who 
could  sit  down  in  the  day-time  and  bother  his  brains  with  piecing 
rhymes  together.  Indeed,  he  did  not  at  all  care  for  the  society 
of  Mr.  Edward  Dowse.  He  did  not  like  to  be  seen  in  the  club 
with  a  man  who  wore  a  Byronic  collar,  and  combed  his  ridicu- 
lously profuse  hair  down  over  his  face. 

Perhaps  there  was  a  spice  of  mischief  in  the  proposal  which 
Edward  Dowse  placed  before  his  mother,  to  the  effect  that  she 
should  ask  Miss  Main,  and  that  he  should  ask  Mr.  George  Miller, 
to  come  down  to  the  Laurels  on  the  same  day,  without  previous 
intimation  of  the  meeting. 

"  No,  no,  Teddy,"  his  mother  said,  good-naturedly.  "  That  is 
all  your  romantic  notions.  You  would  find  them  strangers  to 
each  other,  and  Mr.  Miller  might  not  like  to  meet  at  dinner  a 
young  lady  whom  he  might  afterward  see  at  the  desk  in  Regent 
Street.  Not  that  that  is  against  her,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I 
am  sure.     I  like  the  girl;  she  is  most  lady-like — " 

"  Oh,  you  know  quite  well,  mother,  she  was  not  brought  up  to 
that  kind  of  thing." 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Teddy,  if  you  like,"  continued 
his  mother.  "  I  will  ask  her  to  spend  Christmas-day  here.  The 
poor  girl  must,  be  dull  in  her  lodgings." 


356  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Well,  Teddy  approved  of  that.  He  had  not  the  slightest  no- 
tion in  the  world  of  falling  in  love  with  Miss  Main  ;  but  her  pres- 
ence in  this  remote  little  country-house  would  be  an  agreeable 
break  to  its  monotony.  Who  could  tell,  too,  but  that  some  ele- 
ment of  the  unexpected  might  be  introduced  into  their  Christmas 
festivities  by  this  mysterious  guest  ?  On  Christmas-night  thoughts 
and  fancies  go  far  away ;  perhaps,  in  a  sudden  moment  of  confi- 
dence, she  might  be  induced  to  tell  them  her  story.  That  would 
tend  to  redeem  the  commonplaceness  of  the  evening:  a  Christ- 
mas dinner  consisting  only  of  roast  turkey,  Champagne,  and  plum- 
pudding  was  a  poor  affair. 

But  Mr.  Dowse,  senior,  who  was  commissioned  to  carry  the  in- 
vitation to  Violet,  added,  or  rather  prefixed,  something  on  his  own 
account 

"  Miss  Main,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  facetious  heartiness,  "  do 
you  know  you  have  been  looking  very  unwell  lately  ?  Do  you 
know  that  ?  Well,  we  can't  have  an  invalid  on  our  hands ;  peo- 
ple coming  into  the  place  would  say  that  the  contemplation  of 
good  designs  in  furniture  had  a  bad  effect  on  the  spirits.  Come, 
what  do  you  say  to  taking  a  holiday  or  two,  and  running  down 
to  stay  with  Mrs.  Dowse  ?  You  will  get  a  hearty  welcome. 
Come,  is  it  to  be  a  bargain  ?" 

The  girl  looked  up  from  her  desk:  she  had  been  reading  a 
newspaper,  having  nothing  else  to  do  at  the  moment. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Dowse,  and  of  Mrs. 
Dowse  too ;  but  I  assure  you  I  don't  feel  at  all  unwell  at  present." 

"  But  I  assure  you  I  know  you  are  not  all  right ;  you  look 
troubled,  fatigued.     Come,  think  better  of  it." 

"  I  could  not  leave  London  at  present,  sir,"  she  said.  "  I — I 
have  a  dear  friend  who  is  unwell — " 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  he.  He  was  surprised.  He 
had  understood  that  she  had  not  a  single  friend  in  London.  But, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  it  was  some  lady  friend,  he  added, 
"  Well,  at  any  time  you  may  think  of  visiting  her,  you  ought  to 
do  so  during  the  day.  These  cold  and  misty  nights  are  danger- 
ous." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  she :  she  was  glad  to  have  no 
further  demand  for  explanation. 

"And  here  is  another  thing.  Mrs.  Dowse  would  be  very  glad 
if  you  would  spend  Christmas-day  with  us — " 


PREPARATIONS    FOR   PLIGHT. 


357 


"  It  is  really  too  good  of  you — of  you  both,  sir,"  said  the  girl, 
who  was  very  much  touched  by  this  spontaneous  kindness  on 
the  part  of  people  who  were  practically  strangers  to  her.  "I 
think,  however,  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me." 

He  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with  some  doubt. 

"  You  have  some  friends,  then,  with  whom  you  will  spend 
Christmas?" 

"  N-no,  not  exactly,"  she  stammered. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  prefer  to  spend  Christmas-even- 
ing all  by  yourself  in  your  lodgings  ?"  said  Mr.  Dowse,  with  some 
amazement. 

"  Perhaps — I — I  don't  prefer  it,"  she  said,  with  such  obvious 
embarrassment  that  he  resolved  not  to  press  the  invitation ;  "  but 
— if  you  will  tell  Mrs.  Dowse  how  much  I  thank  her.  I  am 
afraid  I  can  not  accept  her  kindness  this  time." 

So  there  was  no  more  said  on  that  subject  in  Regent  Street. 
The  whole  position  of  the  girl,  however,  was  a  fruitful  topic  of 
speculation,  led  by  Mr.  Dowse,  junior,  in  the  Berkshire  drawing- 
room  of  an  evening.  It  was  observed,  among  other  things,  that 
she  never  availed  herself  of  that  permission  to  go  and  see  her 
sick  friend  in  the  day-time. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  a  brighter  look  came  to  Miss  Main's 
face.  She  began  to  regain  her  old  cheerful  equanimity  ;  she  was 
as  vivacious  as  ever  in  discussing  those  combinations  of  color 
and  form  about  which  father  and  son  occasionally  consulted  her. 
They  guessed  that  her  sick  friend  was  getting  better.  And  they 
were  right.  That  fierce  fever  had  been  at  last  overthrown  in  its 
wrestle  with  a  fine  constitution.  As  George  Miller  earned,  from 
time  to  time,  this  news  to  Violet  North,  he,  too,  conld  notice  the 
growing  light  of  her  face,  and  the  proud  gladness  of  her  eyes. 

"  He  will  go  away  from  London  when  the  mild  spring  weather 
comes  in,  will  he  not?"  she  said.  "Away  to  the  South,  perhaps? 
Or  is  there  any  air  so  soft  and  sweet  as  that  in  the  Western  High- 
lands ?  Perhaps  he  will  go  away  in  the  Sea-Pyot  again — to  Loch 
Salen  and  Ornsay,  and  Kyle  Rhea." 

"  And  you  ?"  said  he,  "  where  shall  you  be  then  ?" 

Her  eyes  grew  distant,  but  not  sad. 

"  No  one  will  know  that ;  and  no  one  will  care.  And  you 
must  go  and  become  great  friends  with  Mr.  Drummond  again. 
When  I  think  of  you,  I  shall  think  of  you  always  as  a  holiday 


358  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

party ;  and  either  you  are  out  on  the  hills  shooting  with  old 
Peter,  or  else  you  are  away  in  the  yacht,  sailing  round  the  islands, 
and  getting  into  quiet  bays  in  the  evening.  Mind  you,  I  shall 
always  think  of  you  as  having  bright  and  beautiful  weather,  and 
of  your  being  very  merry." 

"And  what  shall  we  think  of  you?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  she  said,  quite  cheerfully.  "  You  can  not 
always  be  mourning  for  dead  people." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  not  considered,"  he  said,  with  some  bit- 
terness, "  what  my  position  will  be.  I  shall  see  your  relations 
and  friends  still  saddened  by  thinking  of  your  death,  and  know 
that  I  could  with  a  word  relieve  them  from  this  grief,  and  be 
unable  to  do  so.  I  shall  see  them  wearing  black,  and  become  a 
party  to  a  hoax — " 

"All  that  will  pass  by,"  she  said;  "it  can  not  last  long;  and 
poor  Anatolia  will  be  glad  to  get  out  of  black,  because  it  does 
not  suit  her  complexion.  Poor  Anatolia !  I  suppose  she  speaks 
quite  kindly  of  me  now  ?" 

"  She  does  indeed." 

"And  Lady  North  too?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  There,  now,"  she  said,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  don't  you  see  what 
good  I  have  done  already  ?  When  I  was  with  them — when  I  was 
alive — I  was  the  cause  of  all  sorts  of  quarreling  and  ill-temper ; 
now  they  have  forgotten  all  that:  I  have  no  doubt  they  would  put 
some  flowers  on  my  grave,  if  only  they  knew  where  to  find  it." 

He  could  find  nothing  at  all  jocular  in  the  affair ;  but  his  anx- 
iety and  embarrassment  at  this  moment  arose  from  selfish  motives, 
rather  than  from  any  generous  desire  to  restore  Violet  to  her 
friends.  As  each  day  passed,  he  saw  the  time  of  her  intended 
flight  coming  nearer ;  and  he  grew  more  and  more  to  dread  the 
responsibility  that  had  been  thrust  on  him.  He  did  not  like  hav- 
ing his  hands  cumbered  with  a  mystery.  For  the  rest  of  his  life 
he  would  have  to  become  a  practiced  hypocrite  in  all  his  relations 
with  some  dozen  persons  whom  he  would  be  constantly  meeting. 
All  this  annoyed  him ;  and  he  knew  that  in  a  short  time  his  last 
chance  of  protest  would  disappear. 

In  fact,  on  this  very  evening  things  reached  a  climax.  Just 
before  they  parted,  Violet  paused  for  a  moment,  and  said  to  him, 
with  some  earnestness, 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT.  359 

"You  must  let  me  thank  you  most  warmly  for  all  this  kind- 
ness you  have  shown  me.     I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  Well,  mind  you,"  said  he,  "  I  have  expressed  no  approval  of 
your  conduct.  I  think  you  are  very  wrong.  I  did  what  you 
asked  me  ;  but — hut  I  am  not  responsible — " 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  The  responsibility  is 
mine.  Well,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  for  another  favor.  Will 
you  lend  me  a  hundred  pounds  ?" 

"A  hundred  pounds!"  he  said;  but  it  was  not  the  amount  of 
the  demand  that  caused  his  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  I  will  return  it  to  you  when  I  can; 
but  if  you  lend  it  me,  it  may  be  some  time  before  I  can  repay 
you.  It  will  be  a  great  favor.  I  have  been  saving  up  money 
from  my  earnings  to  take  me  out  of  England,  so  that  I  should 
escape  the  risk  of  further  discovery ;  but  it  is  a  slow  process.  If 
you  lent  me  this  money,  I  could  start  at  once.  I  am  anxious  to 
go,  now  that  I  know  Mr.  Drummond  is  better." 

The  young  man  remained  silent.  His  first  impulse  was  to  say, 
"  You  shall  have  a  thousand !"  for  he  could  not  brook  the  idea 
of  her  considering  him  mean.  Had  he  been  better  acquainted 
with  the  girl's  nature,  he  would  have  known  that  such  an  idea 
could  never  have  occurred  to  her.  However,  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion checked  this  impulse ;  for  he  saw  how  the  loan  of  this  mon- 
ey would  involve  him  more  deeply  than  ever  in  a  responsibility 
which  he  was  anxious  to  repudiate  altogether. 

"  You  must  give  me  time  to  think  about  that,"  said  he ;  and 
then  he  added,  hastily,  "  Of  course,  you  know,  Violet,  it  isn't  the 
money.  You  might  have  that,  or  any  thing  else  of  mine,  and 
welcome  ;  but — but — " 

"  It  is  merely  a  question  of  time,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  I  am 
leaving  England,  and  I  shall  never  return  to  it.  If  you  lend  me 
this  money,  I  shall  go  a  little  sooner,  that  is  all.  If  you  don't,  I 
must  wait." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  considerable  embarrassment.  "  But  then, 
you  see,  I  am  helping  to  render  it  impossible  for  your  friends  to 
reclaim  you.     There  is  always  the  chance — " 

"  How  can  there  be  any  chance,  if  you  do  not  tell  them  ?  And 
I  have  trusted  to  your  honor  as  regards  that." 

"There  is  always  the  chance,  though,"  he  said,  stubbornly. 
"  Look  at  the  chance  that  threw  me  in  your  way.    Don't  you  see, 


360  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

Violet,  that  the  Dowses  "know  quite  well  you  were  not  brought  up 
to  be  a  clerk?  They  know  you  belong  to  some  good  family — 
that  there  is  a  secret  about  it.  And,  of  course,  they  will  go  on 
talking  until  they  run  against  somebody  who  knows  you  —  just 
as  young  Dowse  did  in  my  case." 

"That  is  the  greater  reason  why  I  should  get  away  at  once." 

"  But  it  is  the  very  reason  why  I  should  not  help  you ;  because 
I  believe  you  are  acting  wrongly ;  and  I  don't  like  to  have  any 
part  in  it." 

"  Then  I  must  wait,"  she  said,  in  rather  disappointed  tones. 
"  Perhaps  Mr.  Dowse  would  lend  it  me ;  he  is  a  very  generous 
man." 

"Give  me  till  to-morrow,  Violet,"  said  Miller.  "Or,  let  me 
see.  It  is  the  night  after  to-morrow  I  have  to  tell  you  about  Mr. 
Drummond  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "I  hope  that  will  be  the  last  time  I  shall 
have  to  trouble  you." 

"  I  will  tell  you  about  the  money  then." 

They  parted ;  and  he  went  home  to  his  rooms  in  Half  Moon 
Street  with  some  serious  trouble  on  his  mind.  It  was  quite  clear 
that,  now  Mr.  Drummond  was  getting  better,  she  would,  if  she 
were  given  this  money,  leave  England  at  once.  His  aiding  her 
in  this  project  was  an  exceedingly  grave  matter.  On  the  other 
hand,  his  personal  pride  was  touched.  Could  he  at  any  time 
have  believed  that  Violet  North  would  condescend  to  ask  him  for 
a  sum  of  money,  and  that  he  would  refuse  her  ?  Did  she  think 
he  was  afraid  of  not  having  it  back  again  ?  She  had  spoken  of 
Mr.  Dowse  as  a  generous  man :  was  there  not  some  contrast  lurk- 
ing in  her  thoughts  ? 

Then  he  began  to  argue  out  the  matter  on  a  different  line.  If 
he  lent  her  the  money,  he  was  not  responsible  for  the  application 
of  it.  The  gunsmith  who  sells  a  man  a  revolver  with  which  a 
murder  is  subsequently  committed  is  no  accessory  in  the  crime. 
He  had  protested  with  all  his  might  against  this  project  of  hers. 
After  all,  and  in  any  case,  he  was  not  going  to  have  it  said  of 
himself,  by  himself,  that  an  old  friend  of  his  had  demanded  the 
loan  of  a  paltry  hundred  pounds,  and  been  refused. 

On  the  evening  on  which  he  was  to  see  Violet — for  the  last 
time,  according  to  her  expressed  wish — he  went  over  to  James 
Drummond's  house,  and  made  the  usual  inquiries.     The  answer 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT.  361 

was  in  every  way  favorable.  Though  the  patient  was  still  ex- 
ceedingly weak,  still  he  was  slowly  getting  on  toward  recovery  ; 
and  would  he  care  to  go  in  and  see  his  sick  friend  for  a  few 
minutes  ? 

"  "Well,  young  Miller,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  have  you  come 
to  play  the  Good  Samaritan  again?  Young  men  of  your  age 
ought  to  be  at  the  theatre,  and  balls,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  in- 
stead of  visiting  sick-rooms.  Or  are  you  fond  of  tragedy  ?  only 
there  would  scarcely  have  been  any  thing  tragic  in  the  death  of 
such  a  frail  and  helpless  victim  as  myself.  Look  at  my  hands. 
I  believe  the  executioner  took  pity  on  me  even  after  he  bad  my 
head  on  the  block — gave  me  a  sort  of  parting  kick,  as  it  were, 
as  a  poor  devil  that  wasn't  worth  wasting  his  strength  on.  Sit 
down,  and  tell  me  what  is  going  on.  I  am  not  allowed  to  read 
yet,  and  my  sister  and  Amy — well,  you  know  how  women  begin 
to  read  the  newspapers  to  you — I  believe  they  would  begin  with 
the  advertisements,  and  then  go  on  to  the  police  news." 

The  large,  fine  eyes  were  as  keen  and  bright  as  ever,  but  there 
was  nothing  in  them  of  that  restless  fire  which  Miller  had  seen 
on  his  first  visit.  And  the  quick  intelligence  of  this  strange  in- 
valid was  as  much  on  the  alert  as  ever ;  though  there  was  a  tired 
and  pale  look  on  his  face,  and  his  emaciated  hands  lay  helpless 
on  the  white  coverlet. 

Young  Miller  told  him  something  of  what  Avas  going  forward 
in  the  outside  world,  and  he  showed  great  interest  in  it.  But 
what  struck  his  visitor  as  most  peculiar  in  this  random  conversa- 
tion was  the  fashion  in  which  Mr.  Drummond  managed  to  intro- 
duce, on  more  than  one  occasion,  and  especially  when  his  sister 
was  in  the  room,  references  to  the  delirium  from  which  he  had 
suffered,  and  the  necessity  of  persons  guarding  themselves  against 
the  presumption  that  any  thing  said  during  delirium  must  have 
some  basis  of  fact  behind  it. 

"Can't  you  imagine  frightful  mischief  arising,"  he  said,  "from 
some  foolish  wife  believing  that  certain  things  uttered  by  her  hus- 
band when  he  was  in  a  delirious  state  must  be  partly  true,  or 
founded  in  truth — that  he  had  committed  some  crime,  for  exam- 
ple ?  Don't  you  think  that  it  is  some  small  mistake  of  this  sort 
that  often  leads  up  to  some  dreadful  tragedy,  apparently  without 
explanation  ?  Now,  take  the  case  of  a  husband  who  is  annoyed 
by  the  pertinacious  curiosity  of  his  wife,  who  is  continually  pry- 

16 


362  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

ing  into  his  correspondence  about  the  most  commonplace  affairs. 
To  punish  her  he  forges  one  or  two  letters,  clear  evidence  of  an 
intrigue,  and  places  them  in  his  desk.  What  does  she  do  ?  Why, 
go  out  and  drown  herself ;  and  there  you  have  a  tragedy  arising 
out  of  a  mere  joke.  It  is  only  the  whipper-snapper  in  criticism 
who  is  always  crying  out  for  a  grand  and  tremendous  motive, 
take  my  word  for  it.  The  greatest  tragedies  of  life  arise  out  of 
the  most  trivial  things.  You  know  the  most  appalling  tragedy 
in  the  world — the  destruction  of  the  great  host  of  the  Nibelung- 
en,  who  marched  away  from  the  Rhineland  to  be  the  guests  of 
King  Etzel  and  his  revengeful  wife — what  did  that  arise  out  of? 
— only  a  taunt  flung  at  one  angry  woman  by  another,  which  was 
immediately  disavowed,  too,  by  the  first  woman's  husband.  You 
don't  know  that  I  once  wrote  a  tragedy  ?" 

"  No." 

"  I  did.  It  has  mingled  with  the  elementary  forces  of  nature 
by  this  time,  for  I  burned  it.  And  another  objection  was  about 
the  '  unities.'  Gracious  goodness  !  do  you  find  any  of  the  great 
masters,  when  they  look  abroad  on  the  beautiful  and  diverse  world, 
limiting  themselves  to  such  material  as  is  necessary  to  some  small 
and  mechanical  plot  ?  I  think  it  is  the  odd  characters — the  peo- 
ple who  have  no  business  there — that  I  love  the  most ;  for  unless 
the  author  loved  them  too,  he  would  not  go  out  of  his  way  to 
drag  them  in.  What  on  earth  has  Autolycus  to  do  with  the 
plot  of  '  A  Winter's  Tale  V  —  and  yet  I  don't  know  any  body  I 
have  such  a  sneaking  fondness  for  as  Autolycus.  I  wish  he  lived 
in  the  parish  of  Camberwell.  He  should  dine  with  me  every 
day,  and  the  spoons  would  be  at  his  disposal.  Then  look  at  the 
First  Grave-digger  in  4  Hamlet :'  how  could  we  do  without  the 
Grave-digger  ?" 

"Not  very  well,"  said  Miller,  with  a  modest  smile;  "we  must 
have  him,  sooner  or  later." 

"  Young  Miller,"  observed  the  recumbent  invalid,  "  when  you 
are  bent  on  making  jokes,  please  to  remember  that  I  have  just 
missed  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  grave-digger  by  a  hair- 
breadth, and  that  I  may  have  suddenly  to  turn  round  and  shake 
hands  with  him,  thanking  him  beforehand  for  allotting  me  so 
much  of  his  valuable  space,  as  the  people  say  who  write  to  the 
newspapers.  Then  there  is  the  melancholy  Jacques — I  have  al- 
ways had   a  great  regard   for  my  namesake;    but  I   don't  see 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT.  3G3 

that  lie  affects  the  action  of  the  story  very  much.  The  '  uni- 
ties—' " 

"  But  how  did  they  criticise  your  tragedy,  if  it  was  never  pub- 
lished?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  that  there  are  critics  who  buffet  your 
book  before  it  is  published,  and  critics  who  jump  on  it  afterward  \ 
My  beautiful  tragedy  suffered  so  much  from  the  first  that  I  deter- 
mined that  it  should  not  reach  the  second.  I  liberated  it.  Now 
I  can  imagine  portions  of  it  floating  as  down  on  a  butterfly's 
wing;  and  other  portions  appearing  in  the  petal  of  a  primrose; 
and  others  forming  part  of  the  pink  flush  in  a  young  girl's  cheek. 
My  tragedy  will  never  die.  If  I  had  published  it  now,  what 
would  have  been  the  result  ?  I  should  know  that,  although  I 
bought  in  every  copy  I  could  lay  my  hands  on,  the  people  at  the 
British  Museum  would  tenaciously  cling  to  that  evidence  of  my 
stupidity.  I  will  admit  that  my  hero  was  an  ass — and  a  sono- 
rous, self-conceited  ass,  too.     Let's  see — what  was  his  name  ?" 

But  here  Mrs.  Warrener  broke  in  upon  this  random  talk  by  en- 
tering the  room  with  some  medicine  in  her  hand.  He  took  the 
glass  from  her,  and  swallowed  the  stuff. 

"Another  compliment  to  my  doctor,"  he  said:  "  I  take  it  only 
to  please  him — I  am  certain  it  has  not  the  least  effect  upon  me. 
But  if  a  man  carries  you  across  a  river,  and  then  tells  you  he  was 
able  to  do  it  because  he  had  a  tobacco-stopper  in  his  pocket,  you 
are  bound  to  respect  the  tobacco-stopper." 

"You  seem  to  be  getting  on  very  well,"  said  young  Miller, 
cheerfully. 

"  My  great  ambition,"  said  the  invalid,  "  is  to  get  a  white  col- 
lar on — a  regularly  starched,  stiff,  stuck-up  collar,  as  hard  as  iron, 
and  as  white  as  snow.  I  have  got  so  tired  of  these  half-tinted, 
wretched,  soft,  cotton  things  I  have  been  swathed  in — " 

"  Well,  James,"  said  his  sister,  "  I  hope  when  you  get  better  you 
don't  mean  to  be  more  particular  about  your  collars  and  shirts 
than  before,  for  indeed  there  was  never  any  pleasing  you.  You 
don't  care  what  sort  of  coat  you  wear,  nor  what  sort  of  hat,  but 
your  linen  and  your  boots,  there  is  no  pleasing  you  with  them." 

"And  I  am  looking  forward,  too,  to  the  first  draught  of  bitter 
ale  I  am  allowed.  Do  you  remember  that  sensation — the  first 
draught  at  luncheon  on  the  first  day  of  the  shooting,  after  all  the 
heat  and  the  toil?     No,  you  were  not  up  with  us  on  the  12th." 


804  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  grew  silent  after  that,  and  thoughtful.  Young  Miller,  with 
some  words  of  hope  and  encouragement,  took  his  leave,  and  made 
his  way  across  London  to  the  neighborhood  of  Regent  Street. 

It  was  the  last  time  he  was  to  see  Violet,  and  he  carried  in  his 
pocket  the  sum  of  money  which  was  to  free  her  from  the  neces- 
sity of  remaining  longer  in  London.  Nay,  he  carried  double  that 
sum,  for,  he  said  to  himself,  if  there  was  any  mischief  to  be  done 
by  the  one  hundred  pounds,  no  greater  could  be  done  by  two 
hundred ;  and  he  would  show  her  that  it  was  not  the  value  of 
the  money  that  had  made  him  pause.  And  yet,  as  he  walked  up 
and  down  Great  Marlborough  Street  (she  had  refused  to  go  again 
into  the  theatre)  in  expectation  of  her,  he  was  not  a  little  anxious 
and  agitated.  The  chances  of  any  one  now  interfering  to  relieve 
him  from  the  responsibility  he  had  incurred  were  small  indeed. 
She  would  start  at  once ;  how  could  any  body  trace  her  after  she 
left  New  York  ?  When  he  gave  her  that  promise,  he  was  con- 
vinced he  could  talk  her  out  of  a  determination  Avhich  he  consid- 
ered to  be  the  height  of  folly ;  he  had  failed  in  that,  and  now  he 
saw  no  prospect  of  her  releasing  him  at  all. 

The  question  now  was,  Ought,  this  promise  to  be  kept  ?  Young 
Miller  was  not  much  of  a  casuist ;  but  he  had  some  shrewd  com- 
mon sense.  He  knew  there  were  occasions  on  which  people 
might  legitimately  do  something  not  quite  "  straight."  There 
were  innocent  forms  of  deception.  He  thought  this  was  too  bad. 
It  wasn't  quite  fair  to  him  or  to  any  body.  She  ought  not  to 
expect  that  the  temporary  promise  was  to  last  forever.  As  he 
walked  up  and  down,  he  pretty  nearly  worked  himself  into  the 
conviction  that,  at  all  risks,  he  ought  to  go  and  tell  the  girl's  fa- 
ther. 

Now,  if  he  had  had  some  male  confidant  of  his  own  stamp, 
with  whom  he  could  have  debated  this  question,  there  can  be  lit- 
tle doubt  that  he  would  have  gone  and  told  the  girl's  father. 
His  friend  would  have  said  to  him : 

"  Oh,  look  here,  Miller,  you  can  not  let  the  girl  go  like  that. 
If  your  conscience  is  tender  about  your  promise,  you  must  do 
evil,  that  good  may  come.  Lots  of  people  do  that.  You  tell 
lies  to  sick  people  to  make  them  hope.  This  is  all  nonsense  :  go 
away  and  tell  the  girl's  father  at  once.'" 

Nay,  if  the  promise  had  been  given  to  a  man,  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances, it  is  probable  that  Miller,  without  any  counsel,  would 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT.  365 

so  have  acted.  But  it  was  different  with  a  girl,  and  that  girl  Vi- 
olet North.  He  could  imagine  the  look  of  contempt  with  which 
she  would  hear  that  he  had  broken  his  word.  He  was  afraid 
of  her  scorn.  In  the  midst  of  these  deliberations,  Violet  ap' 
peared. 

"He  is  still  going  on  favorably?"  she  said,  gently.  He  had 
been  so  occupied  in  thinking  of  her  anger  that  he  was  surprised 
by  the  sad  sweetness  of  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  first-rate !"  said  he.  "  Talking  away  as  fast  as  ever — it 
is  no  use  urging  him  to  be  quiet.  And  I  suppose  there  is  no 
great  harm  in  talking ;  it  is  the  thinking  that  is  the  matter ;  for 
his  brain  still  has  some  symptoms  of  feverishness  left,  and  goes 
on  at  such  a  pace  that  he  can't  get  sleep.  That  is  weakness,  you 
know — feverishness ;  a  man  can't  sleep  well  unless  he  has  exer- 
cise.    But  in  other  respects  he  is  going  on  wonderfully  well." 

Then  there  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  I  have  brought 
you  the  money.  Since  you  have  asked  it,  here  it  is ;  and  if  you 
are  really  going,  one  hundred  pounds  is  not  enough.  I  have 
brought  you  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  she  said,  as  she  took  the  envelope 
containing  the  notes.  "  I  will  send  it  to  you  back  again  by  de- 
grees ;  and  I  know  you  won't  hurry  me." 

At  this  moment  a  sudden  thought  flashed  into  his  mind  that 
had  never  occurred  to  him  before.  If  she  posted  these  install- 
ments from  time  to  time,  would  not  he  thus  be  able  to  get  some 
approximate  notion  of  her  whereabouts  in  America?  That  was 
something,  but  not  much,  considering  the  vow  under  which  she 
would  leave  him. 

"  Now,  Violet,"  said  he,  "  you  are  free  to  go ;  and  I  suppose 
this  will  be  the  last  chance  I  shall  have  of  begging  you  to  con- 
sider what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  have  considered,"  she  said,  sadly. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  he,  rather  excitedly,  "  I  have  been 
considering  too  ;  and  really,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  don't  know  that 
I  am  right  in — in — " 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  said,  calmly,  "  that  you  have  been  consid- 
ering whether  you  will  break  your  word  of  honor?" 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  some  compunction,  "  I — I — understood 
it  was  to  be  temporary." 


366  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  had  no  such  understanding,"  she  replied,  "  nor  did  you  say- 
any  thing  about  that." 

"  It  is  very  hard — "  he  was  beginning  to  say,  when  she  inter- 
rupted him. 

"Pray,  let  us  part  friends,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  appeal 
in  her  voice.     "You   have   been  very  kind  to   me — be   kind 


now 


I" 


"  And  you  won't  even  let  me  know  where  you  are  to  be  found 
in  America,  suppose  any  thing  were  to  turn  up  ?" 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  am  to  be  as  one  dead  to  you,  and  to  all 
here.  In  a  year  or  two  it  will  not  matter;  you  will  have  forgot- 
ten. And  before  that,  too,  I  must  think  of  you  all  as  happy  and 
enjoying  yourselves,  as  I  told  you  before — shooting  wild  duck, 
going  to  the  Royal  Academy,  dining  with  Lady  North.  In  every 
thing  that  may  happen  to  you,  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  I 
hope  and  pray  you  may  always  be — pleased,  and  happy,  and  con- 
tented. Now,  good-bye.  I  am  more  grateful  to  you  than  I  can 
tell  you.     You  have  been  kind  to  me — " 

She  was  gone ;  he  was  left  standing  there,  bewildered.  Some- 
how, though  there  was  not  much  sentiment  in  his  nature,  he  felt 
sick  at  heart.  It  was  hard  to  lose  this  beautiful  friend,  who  had 
for  a  time  been  mixed  up  with  his  boyish  dreams.  He  pictured 
her  going  out  alone  to  the  unknown  world  of  America,  not  one 
human  being  there  to  meet  her  and  take  her  by  the  hand.  He 
thought  of  her  lonely  life  in  that  far  country,  of  the  years  add- 
ing to  her  loneliness — for  he  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  she  would 
never  marry — until  the  final  night  came,  and  she  would  pass  away 
without  one  of  her  own  people  or  her  old  friends  near  her  at  that 
awful  moment.  His  dinner  at  the  Judaeum  that  night  nearly 
choked  him.  His  acquaintances  there  were  convinced  that  he 
had  been  heavily  hit  by  the  sudden  fall  in  Costa  Ricas. 

Next  morning  Violet  sought  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with 
Mr.  Dowse  in  private. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Dowse,  but  would  it  be  convenient 
for  you  to  let  me  leave  at  the  end  of  the  month  ?" 

"To  leave  altogether ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  humbly. 

Mr.  Dowse  was  surprised,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  offended.  He 
knew  he  had  dealt  generously  by  this  girl ;  and  here  she  was 
wanting  to  leave  at  little  more  than  a  week's  notice. 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT.  367 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  found  the  situation  disagreeable,  Miss 
Main  ?"  said  he,  somewhat  stiffly. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  "  on  the  contraiy,  you  have  been  most  in- 
dulgent to  me." 

"  Is  it  a  question  of  salary  ?" 

"  No — certainly  not,"  she  said.     "  I — " 

"  Perhaps  you  have  another  situation  in  view  ?" 

"  I  have  not,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "I  wish  to  leave  England — 
that  is  all.  I  must  go.  If  it  would  be  convenient  for  you,  Mr. 
Dowse,  I  would  willingly  forfeit  a  month's  salary — " 

The  moment  she  had  uttered  the  words  she  felt  sorry. 

"  I  don't  think,  Miss  Main,"  said  he,  "  that  there  has  been  much 
monetary  dispute  between  us.  I  am  sorry  you  feel  it  necessary 
to  leave  England ;  but,  if  it  is  so,  well,  I  need  scarcely  say  that 
we  shall  not  attempt  to  bind  you  by  any  engagement.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  impertinent  if  I  asked  you  what  your  plans  are  ?" 

"  I  have  none  at  all,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  am  going  to  Amer- 
ica." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously ;  he  began  to  believe  there  might 
be  something  in  the  nonsense  his  son  had  been  talking  about  this 
mysterious  stranger. 

"Well,  well,  Miss  Main,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "you  are  advent- 
urous ;  but  you  have  courage.  And  so  you  have  resolved  to  leave 
us  ?  Well,  you  know,  you  must  come  down  and  bid  Mrs.  Dowse 
good-bye." 

This  worthy  person,  having  a  suspicion  that  the  girl  was  com- 
mitting a  mistake,  was  of  opinion  that  nobody  could  talk  her 
over  like  Mrs.  Dowse. 

"  What  do  you  say,  now  ?  Won't  you  change  your  mind  about 
Christmas?" 

"Thank  you,  sir,  I  can  not  do  that.  But  I  shall  be  very  glad 
to  go  down  and  bid  Mrs.  Dowse  good-bye.  Would  next  Satur- 
day be  convenient  ?" 

"The  day  after  Christmas?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Certainly  it  would.  You  won't  mind  coming  down  to  Wind- 
sor Station  by  yourself;  as  we  shall  all  be  down  in  the  country 
from  the  Friday  to  the  Monday.  We  will  meet  you  at  the  station 
— that  is,  if  we  are  not  drowned  in  the  floods  before  then.  We 
are  living  in  the  middle  of  a  lake  at  present." 


368  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  Violet  should  go  down  on  the  Satur- 
day to  bid  good-bye  to  her  friends  at  The  Laurels.  In  the  mean 
time  she  made  all  her  preparations  for  her  departure.  She  book- 
ed her  place  on  board  one  of  the  transatlantic  steamers ;  and  got 
her  luggage  ready.  On  the  night  before  Christmas-day  she  went 
to  Covent  Garden  and  bought  some  flowers  —  not  a  bouquet  of 
wax-like  blooms,  but  a  basket  of  primroses,  and  violets,  and  snow- 
drops ;  a  vision  of  spring-time  in  the  dead  of  winter.  Then  she 
went  home ;  and  took  out  a  rudely  written  piece  of  paper ;  and 
there  were  tears  running  down  her  face  like  rain  as  she  read  the 
words :  "  These  flowers  are  sent  to  Mr.  Drummond  from  one  who 
received  great  kindness  from  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


TT.l" 


SOUL    TO    SOUL 

All  that  Christmas-day,  until  the  afternoon,  she  spent  in  her 
lodgings,  sometimes  reading,  sometimes  adding  a  bit  to  her  pack- 
ing, sometimes  staring  out  of  window  into  the  misty  street,  where 
the  shops  were  shut,  and  the  people  who  passed  wore  their  Sun- 
day clothes.     She  thought  the  cold,  dismal  day  would  never  end. 

Her  landlady,  pitying  her  forlorn  condition,  came  up  and  made 
bold  to  ask  her  whether  she  would  not  have  something  extra  for 
her  dinner,  seeing  it  was  Christmas-day.  Miss  Main  replied  that 
she  would  be  out  in  the  afternoon,  and  would  return  for  supper,  as 
usual,  in  the  evening.  Then  Mrs.  Roberts  called,  and  frankly  in- 
vited the  girl  to  go  over  and  have  dinner  with  herself  and  a  small 
party  of  guests.  Miss  Main  thanked  her  friend  warmly ;  but  said 
she  had  an  engagement. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  it  was  drawing  toward  dusk,  she  put  on 
her  shawl  and  bonnet  and  a  thick  veil,  and  went  out.  The  gas- 
lamps  were  being  lighted  in  the  misty  twilight.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  heavy  rains  that  had  recently  fallen,  the  atmosphere  was 
cold  and  raw;  occasionally  the  yellow  light  from  the  lamps  spar- 
kled on  the  frosty  pavements ;  she  vaguely  knew  the  roads  would 
be  slippery  outside  the  town,  whither  she  was  going. 

It  seemed  strange  to  her  to  look  at  the  people  who  were  pass- 


"soul  to  soul!"  369 

ing —  silent,  content,  occupied  only  in  thinking  of  the  present 
moment,  of  the  cold,  or  the  hour,  or  the  condition  of  the  crossing. 
They  were  few  in  number ;  the  streets  were  more  deserted  than 
on  a  Sunday ;  over  the  closed  shops  she  saw  the  windows  lighted 
up :  there,  doubtless,  were  pleasant  gatherings  of  friends,  doubt- 
less having  a  chat  and  a  laugh  together  before  the  festivities  of 
the  evening  began.  She  walked  on — scarcely  knowing  what  to 
think  of  all  the  world  around  her  —  until  she  got  an  omnibus 
bound  for  Victoria  Station ;  and  that  she  entered,  finding  herself 
the  only  passenger. 

It  was  otherwise  at  the  station ;  for  here  and  there  were  a  good 
many  people,  mostly  young  men  in  evening-dress,  who  were  ob- 
viously going  out  to  parties  in  the  suburbs.  They  were  in  groups, 
laughing  and  jesting.  She  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  dimly  lighted 
waiting-room  until  it  was  time  for  the  train  to  start. 

There  were  two  or  three  friends,  bound  for  the  same  house,  in 
the  carriage  with  her.  They  were  joking  merrily.  They  were 
young  Germans,  and  a  trifle  boisterous ;  but  she  forgave  the  boys 
their  high  spirits — was  it  not  Christmas-time  ?  As  she  drew  near 
Denmark-hill  Station  her  heart  began  to  beat  more  rapidly.  She 
recognized  the  voice  of  the  porter  calling  out  as  the  train  stopped ; 
she  hurried  by  him — scarcely  looking  at  the  Avreaths  of  evergreens 
hung  all  around  —  for  she  was  afraid  he  might  remember  her. 
It  was  the  first  Christmas  she  had  omitted  to  pay  a  half-crown 
toll  for  these  pleasant  decorations. 

Up  here  the  air  was  keener  and  clearer ;  a  star  or  two  were 
faintly  visible  in  the  gray  overhead ;  the  pavements  sparkled  with 
the  frost ;  a  great  silence  lay  over  the  black  trees  in  the  gardens. 
And  through  these  trees  and  bushes  she  caught  glimpses  of  glow- 
ing windows ;  here  and  there  a  blind  lifted  or  a  curtain  pushed 
aside  showed  her  brilliant  rooms,  and  green  decorations,  and  figures 
— doubtless  those  of  children — dancing ;  and  she  heard  the  sound 
of  merry  music.  One  large  gate  stood  open  ;  she  went  in  a  step 
or  two,  and  stood  by  the  laurel  bushes.  AVas  not  this  "  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  ?"  There  were  screams  of  laughter,  and  children's 
voices ;  through  the  white  curtains  she  could  see  that  picture  of 
joyousness  within.  When  she  turned  away,  there  were  tears  run- 
ning down  her  face.  It  was  her  last  look  at  an  English  Christ- 
mas. 

At  length  she  got  into  the  Grove  ;  and  it  was  with  slow  steps, 

10* 


;570  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

and  with  a  great  fear  in  her  heart,  that  she  drew  near  the  house 
she  had  been  wont  to  approach  with  gladness  and  confidence. 
She  looked  all  round ;  there  was  not  a  human  being  visible  in  the 
thoroughfare.  She  ventured  to  go  up  as  far  as  the  house,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road,  and  stood  for  a  second  or  two  looking  at 
it.  What  she  saw  was  plain  enough — the  peaked  roofs,  the  dia- 
mond-paned  windows,  the  curious  little  veranda,  and  the  lamp 
swinging  over  the  door  under  the  porch:  what  she  experienced 
then  of  the  wild  anguish  of  farewell  no  human  being  will  ever 
know. 

She  pictured  to  herself  the  group  within,  in  the  small  dining- 
room — the  sick  man,  lying  on  his  couch,  pretending  to  be  brave 
and  strong  so  as  to  help  along  the  simple  festivities,  perhaps  rais- 
ing a  glass  into  his  lean  hand  and  calling  on  them  to  drink  a 
glass  to  their  absent  friends.  She  would  not  be  included  even  in 
that.  But  surely  they  would  think  of  her  on  this  night  of  all 
nights  in  the  year,  and  they  would  think  not  unkindly  of  her,  for 
the  sake  of  old  times — 

She  could  not  bear  this  desperate  sobbing ;  it  was  like  to  break 
her  heart.  And  yet  it  was  hard  to  tear  herself  away.  There  was 
but  a  short  distance  now  between  her  and  all  that  she  loved  upon 
earth ;  soon  the  great  Atlantic  would  be  between  them. 

"  Good-bye — good-bye  !"  her  heart  said  to  them,  in  its  yearning 
love  and  agony.  "  If  you  knew  I  was  so  near,  you  would  come 
to  me — you  would  ask  me  to  go  in — I  should  not  be  a  stranger. 
Perhaps  there  is  an  angel  watching  over  that  house,  to  iring 
peace  to  it,  and  gladness.  He  knows  why  I  go  away.  Oh,  my 
dearest  friends,  good-bye — good-bye  for  the  last  time !" 

She  walked  away,  her  head  bent  down,  her  breast  heaving  with 
its  sobs.  She  went  by  those  brilliantly  lighted  windows,  whence 
the  sound  of  music  issued,  like  some  mute  ghost  of  misery. 

She  did  not  walk  far,  however ;  for  she  had  not  accomplished 
the  chief  part  of  her  mission.  After  a  time,  when  she  had  quiet- 
ed herself  somewhat,  she  began  to  look  around  for  some  one  who 
would  become  her  messenger ;  but  it  was  some  time  before  she 
saw  a  single  human  being,  the  thoroughfares  were  so  deserted. 
At  last,  however,  she  heard  a  small  boy  approach,  whistling.  She 
asked  him  if  he  would  take  the  basket  she  held  in  her  hand,  with 
a  note,  and  leave  them  at  a  certain  door.  He  looked  curiously 
at  her.     She  said  she  would  give  him  a  shilling,  and  he  at  once 


"  SOUL    TO    SOUL  !"  371 

consented.  So  slie  walked  back  with  him  to  the  Grove,  intrusted 
him  with  the  flowers  and  the  folded  piece  of  paper,  and  then  hur- 
ried away  in  the  gloom. 

James  Drummond  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing-room, 
propped  up  by  the  cushion,  and  Amy  was  at  the  piano,  playing 
to  him.  His  sister  entered  the  room,  carrying  something,  and 
said, 

"  What  a  strange  thing  !  Here  is  a  basket  of  flowers  for  you, 
/James — and  this  bit  of  paper,  which  was  handed  in  with  them." 

Her  face  was  quite  bright.  She  thought  it  was  a  kindly  ac- 
tion.    She  handed  him  the  note,  which  he  opened. 

The  next  moment  she  was  startled  by  a  quick  cry.  She  turned 
at  once,  and  to  her  horror  saw  her  brother  apparently  making  a 
fierce  attempt  to  rise  from  the  couch,  while  his  face  was  wild  and 
white. 

"What  is  it,  James?" 

"  Sarah,  Sarah !"  he  cried,  holding  out  the  paper  with  a  shak- 
ing hand,  "  she  is  alive  !  I  tell  you  that  Violet  is  alive !  I  know 
—  I  know  —  only  herself  would  think  of  this!  It  is  a  message 
from  soul  to  soul !     Violet — " 

He  sunk  back,  speechless  and  exhausted. 

"  Yes,  James,"  said  his  sister,  soothingly.  She  was  dreadfully 
alarmed  by  this  wild  scene ;  and  she  jumped  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  had  lapsed  again  into  delirium.  "  Perhaps  they  are  from 
Violet — you  must  be  still  now." 

"  Woman,  woman  !"  he  cried,  with  still  another  frantic  effort  to 
rise,  "  don't  stand  there !  Send  after  her !  Send  after  the  mes- 
senger !     Who  brought  them  ?" 

"A  boy,"  replied  Mrs.  Warrener,  thoroughly  bewildered,  for  her 
brother  did  not  appear  to  be  delirious,  though  he  spoke  these  in- 
coherent words. 

"  Send  after  him — quick,  quick !  Ask  him  where  he  got  the 
flowers — and  the  message." 

She  ran  at  once  out  into  the  night.  If  this  were  madness,  it 
would  soothe  him  to  know  she  had  obeyed  him.  Or  was  there 
some  wild  possibility  —  some  subtle  sense  —  in  his  overexcited 
brain  ? 

Well,  she  had  not  far  to  go;  for  there  was  the  boy,  under  the 
gas-lamp,  examining  the  shilling  and  biting  it  with  his  teeth,  to 
prove  that  his  good  luck  was  not  a  delusion. 


372  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Boy,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "  you  brought  the  flowers  to  our 
door?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  he  said,  suddenly  plunging  the  shilling  into  his 
pocket. 

"  Who  gave  you  them  ?     Where  did  you  get  them  ?" 

"  The  lady  gave  me  them — I  met  her  round  the  corner." 

"  What  was  she  like  ?     A  young  lady  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  tall?" 

"  Yes,  and  she  wore  a  thick  veil ;  and  I  think  she  was  crying." 

Mrs.  Warrener  began  to  tremble  in  every  limb. 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?" 

"  That  way." 

He  pointed  away  down  the  dusky  thoroughfare,  which  was 
now  silent  and  empty.  Mrs.  Warrener  went  back  to  the  house. 
Her  steps  were  not  very  firm ;  and  her  face,  as  she  entered  the 
room,  was  as  white  as  that  of  her  brother,  who  stared  at  her  with 
eager,  excited  eyes. 

"  Oh,  James — is  it  possible  ?  The  boy — the  boy  says  it  was  a 
young  lady  who  gave  him  the  flowers — a  tall  young  lady — she 
was  veiled — and  he  thought  she  was  crying." 

The  sick  man  sunk  back  on  the  cushion. 

"  Violet  is  alive  and  in  London,  Sarah,"  he  said,  faintly. 
"  You  must  find  her —  Alive ! — Our  Violet  here  a  few  minutes 
ago — "  And  then  he  murmured  to  himself,  as  he  turned  his 
head  away  from  the  glare  of  the  light,  "  Oh,  Madcap,  Madcap, 
what  have  you  done !" 


CHAPTER  XL. 

UNINVITED    GUESTS. 

There  are  moments  of  agonized  thinking  that  shorten  one's 
life  by  years.  Mrs.  Warrener  would  have  appealed  to  her  broth- 
er to  come  to  her  aid  to  put  in  order  the  wild  suggestions  that 
his  words  had  conjured  up,  to  resolve  the  terrible  doubts  which 
now  flashed  in  upon  her ;  but  he  lay  there  silent  and  exhausted, 
that  scene  of  excitement  having  obviously  been  too  much  for  the 


UNINVITED    GUESTS.  373 

feeble  energies  of  an  invalid.  She  was  left  to  face  the  situation 
alone. 

"  Mamma,  is  it  possible — do  you  think  it  possible,  Violet  can 
be  alive  ?"  said  her  daughter,  whose  face  was  as  pale  as  her  own. 

"  Child,  child !  how  can  I  tell  ?"  the  mother  replied,  in  a  be- 
wildered way. 

There  were  the  flowers  on  the  table,  and  the  rudely  written 
message ;  but  it  was  the  interpretation  given  to  them  that  was 
the  strange  and  terrible  thing,  like  some  dream -warning  come 
true,  or  the  vision  seen  by  a  dying  man.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  that  some  tall  young  lady  had  left  the  flowers;  was  it 
really  true,  then,  that  Violet  had  been  all  this  time  living  in  Lon- 
don, thinking  about  them  as  they  about  her,  perhaps  coming  oc- 
casionally, in  her  love  of  madcap  ways,  to  have  a  peep  at  them, 
herself  unseen  ? 

Then  her  face  grew  hot,  and  shame  and  indignation  were  at 
her  heart. 

If,  after  all,  the  girl  had  run  away  from  the  Highlands,  why  ? 
Was  it  to  please  herself  with  her  school  -  girlish  romanticism? 
She  could  not  quite  believe  that  of  Violet.  But  she  angrily  con- 
jectured that  if  it  really  turned  out  the  girl  was  alive  and  well, 
it  would  be  discovered  she  had  run  away  to  rejoin  her  former 
sweetheart;  and  that  all  this  long  grief  and  regret  had  been  visit- 
ed upon  her  friends  simply  because  she  had  not  the  courage  to 
declare  her  intention  in  the  Highlands.  And  the  anger  in  Mrs. 
Warrener's  gentle  bosom  was  not  directed  against  Violet — whose 
wayward  ways  were  known — but  against  George  Miller,  who  had 
seen  their  sufferings,  and  still  held  his  peace ;  who  had  come  over 
there  and  hypocritically  talked  of  the  lost  Violet ;  who,  having 
three  or  four  years  before  pretty  nearly  compromised  the  girl's 
reputation,  had  now  most  thoroughly  succeeded  in  doing  so,  and 
that  for  life. 

"James,"  she  said,  warmly,  "if  Violet  is  alive,  she  must  have 
run  away  to  go  to  Mr.  Miller.  "What  else  could  prompt  her  to 
do  such  a  mad  thing  ?" 

"  That  is  no  matter,"  the  sick  man  said,  gently ;  "  it  is  enough 
that  she  is  alive.  Go  to  her,  Sarah.  Tell  her  we  are  glad  to 
know  she  is  alive  ;  and  see  whether  she  is  well  and  happy.  That 
is  all  right.     Don't  blame  her  for  what  has  been  done." 

"  But  where  am  I  to  find  her  ?     Oh,  James,  all  this  is  a  sort  of 


374  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

wild  dream  !  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  us  to-night — on 
Christmas-night — that  we  are  thinking  such  harsh  things  about 
our  poor  Violet." 

Her  heart  went  up  in  a  prayer  for  forgiveness.  The  memory 
of  that  wayward  girl  had  become  a  pure  and  beautiful  memory. 
Surely,  if  her  gentle  spirit,  on  this  Christmas  evening,  were  look- 
ing down  on  the  household  that  she  used  to  love,  she  would  re- 
gard with  a  gentle  pity  and  forbearance  this  black  nightmare  that 
had  come  over  them. 

"Mamma,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  with  tears  running  down  her 
face,  "  if  there  is  any  chance  at  all,  we  must  try  to  find  her.  Oh, 
to  think  of  getting  our  Violet  back !  Let  us  go  to  Mr.  Miller,  if 
you  think  he  will  know — if  there  is  any  chance  at  all,  mamma — " 

Mrs.  Warrener  looked  at  those  flowers  once  more,  and  she 
thought  of  the  mysterious  visitor. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  ask  Mr.  Miller  ?"  she  said  to  her  brother. 

"  Yes,  yes !"  he  said,  eagerly  ;  "  that  before  every  thing.  You 
will  find  him  at  his  father's  house  to-night,  at  Sydenham  Hill ; 
Amy  knows  the  place.  Perhaps — no,  he  could  not  have  been  so 
cruel — but  he  is  a  young  man;  he  has  plenty  of  money  and 
time ;  he  will  help  you  to  seek  for  her.  And  when  you  find  her, 
ask  no  questions  of  her,  Sarah.  Let  the  girl  have  her  own  se- 
crets. What  she  did  she  was  compelled  to  do,  be  sure  of  that. 
And  do  not  ask  her  to  come  here  unless  she  offers  to  do  that. 
See  that  she  is  well,  and  tell  her  that  we  are  glad  to  hear  news  of 
her — that  is  all." 

"How  sure  your  uncle  is  that  she  is  alive!"  said  Mrs.  Warren- 
er to  her  daughter,  as  they  hurriedly  went  away  to  dress  them- 
selves for  the  plunge  into  the  cold  air.  "  I  hope  it  is  not  all 
some  strange  dream  of  his,  such  as  he  had  when  he  was  deliri- 
ous ;  you  remember  the  night  he  fancied  Violet  Avas  sitting  in 
the  easy- chair,  and  that  she  was  his  wife,  and  going  over  the 
housekeeping  accounts.  Any  one  would  have  believed  it  was 
true ;  he  was  so  anxious  she  should  not  hurt  her  eyes  with  the 
accounts,  and  the  way  he  begged  her  forgiveness  for  being  una- 
ble to  give  her  more  money — " 

"  But  this  is  quite  different,  mamma.  There  is  no  delirium  in 
it  at  all ;  and  oh,  I  hope  it  is  true  !" 

When  the  maid-servant  was  ordered  to  put  back  the  dinner — 
the  Christmas  dinner — to  nine  o'clock,  she  thought  her  mistress 


UNINVITED    QUESTS.  375 

had  gone  out  of  her  wits.  She  went  down  and  complained  to 
her  colleague  in  the  kitchen  that  the  house  had  been  all  at  sixes 
and  sevens  since  the  master  and  missis  came  back  from  Scotland ; 
that  there  never  was  a  laugh  in  the  place  now,  ever  since  Miss 
Violet  was  drowned ;  and  that  altogether  she  felt  so  miserable 
and  wretched  that  she  meant  to  give  warning.  Meanwhile  Mrs. 
Warrener  and  her  daughter,  considering  the  scarcity  of  trains  on 
such  a  day,  had  resolved  to  walk  over  to  Sydenham  Hill ;  and  so, 
with  such  speed  as  the  slippery  roads  permitted,  they  went  along 
to  Green  Lane,  descended  into  those  Dulwich  meadows  in  which 
Violet  had  laid  the  scene  of  her  school -girl  novel;  crossed  the 
meadows  by  narrow  paths,  which  were  dark  enough  on  this  dusky 
night,  and  at  length  got  into  the  broad  highway  that  was  lighted 
by  gas-lamps.  The  two  figures  in  black,  both  veiled,  were  about 
the  only  persons  visible  on  this  Christmas  evening.  As  Violet 
had  done,  but  with  less  oppression  of  heart,  they  glanced  in  at 
the  brilliantly  lighted  windows,  they  passed  from  time  to  time, 
and  heard  the  merry  sounds  of  music  and  dancing. 

But  of  all  the  houses  they  saw  on  that  dark  night  none  was  so 
brilliant  as  that  at  which  they  finally  paused,  up  here  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill.  It  was  a  blaze  of  light  in  all  directions,  including  a 
spacious  conservatory,  the  luminous  pink  and  white  blinds  of 
which  were  visible  from  the  gate.  The  glass-covered  portico  lead- 
ing up  to  the  door  was  lighted  by  many- colored  lamps;  it  was 
clear  that  high  festivities  were  going  on  within. 

Now  at  the  moment  when  these  two  visitors  presented  them- 
selves dinner  was  over,  but  the  ladies  had  not  left  the  dining- 
room,  and  the  butler  was  still  there  busy  with  the  wine ;  while 
the  only  person  who  happened  to  be  in  the  hall  when  the  bell 
was  rung  was  the  sister  of  one  of  the  servants,  a  young  girl  who 
had  been  engaged  as  an  auxiliary  for  the  evening.  She  opened 
the  door. 

"  Is  Mr.  Miller  at  home — I  mean  young  Mr.  Miller  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  girl,  rather  timidly.  She  thought  it 
was  an  unusual  time  for  a  visit. 

"Will  you  please  take  my  card  to  him,  and  say  I  should  like 
to  see  him  for  a  moment  ?     I  will  not  detain  him." 

The  girl  took  the  card.  But  she  could  not  leave  one  who  was 
so  obviously  a  lady  at  the  door ;  much  less  could  she  ask  her  to 


376  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

take  a  seat  in  the  hall.  On  her  own  responsibility,  therefore, 
she  asked  the  two  visitors  if  they  would  step  into  the  drawing- 
room,  while  she  took  the  card  to  Mr.  Miller.  Mrs.  Warrener  and 
her  daughter  entered. 

Those  two  black  figures  looked  strange  in  this  great  room, 
which  was  all  a  blaze  of  satin,  white,  and  gold.  In  anticipation 
of  the  ladies  coming  in  from  the  dining-room,  the  candles  had 
been  lighted  up  round  the  walls,  and  there  was  a  huge  fire 
throwing  pink  colors  on  the  gleaming  white  tiles  of  the  hearth. 
Then  the  decorations:  the  long  festoons  of  ivy  leaves,  the  de- 
vices in  holly  and  mistletoe,  the  beautiful  flowers  placed  around 
the  spacious  apartment — all  this  was  a  sight  to  see,  if  the  two 
strangers  had  been  thinking  of  such  things. 

Mr.  George  Miller  had  earned  some  little  reputation  as  an  ora- 
tor down  Sydenham  way,  where  the  people  are  much  given  to 
dinner-parties  and  other  local  festivities  at  which  healths  are  pro- 
posed. How  this  Scotch  custom  got  transferred  to  Sydenham  is 
at  present  a  mystery.  Among  certain  classes  of  Scotch  people  it 
is  almost  impossible  for  half  a  dozen  persons  to  dine  together 
without  some  one  at  the  end  of  dinner  rising  up  and  making  a 
speech  about  some  one  else,  who,  in  his  turn,  feels  bound  to  pro- 
pose some  other  guest's  health.  Whether  any  colony  of  a  peo- 
ple, who,  however  taciturn  in  general,  are  prone  to  gabbling  after 
dinner,  ever  settled  in  the  neighborhood  of  Sydenham,  I  leave  to 
antiquarians  to  discuss ;  but  it  is  the  fact  that  the  young  men  of 
Sydenham  are,  above  all  others,  trained  from  their  youth  to  pro- 
pose, and  respond  to,  at  a  moment's  notice,  such  toasts  as  "  The 
Ladies,"  "Absent  Friends,"  and  the  like,  and  that  they  acquire 
this  enviable  gift  by  practice  in  comparatively  small  social  cir- 
cles.* However,  on  this  occasion  George  Miller  had  some  excuse 
for  being  on  his  feet.  He  was  proposing  the  health  of  his  niece, 
Miss  Maud  Leicester,  who  had  just  been  brought  in  in  a  high 
chair  with  a  bar  across.  Miss  Maud  paid  not  the  least  heed  to 
all  the  beautiful  things  that  were  being  said  about  her,  but  was 
making  ferocious  attacks  on  an  orange  which  she  found  much 
difficulty  in  holding.     She  looked  up,  however,  when  every  body 

*  I  am  informed  that  commercial  travelers  are  greatly  addicted  to  the  mak- 
ing of  speeches  after  dinner.  This  may  arise  from  their  having  so  frequent- 
ly to  dine  together  in  country  inns,  with  no  other  form  of  intellectual  exercise 
to  fall  back  upon. 


UNINVITED    GUESTS.  377 

called  out  her  name  and  drank  a  glass  of  wine  to  her,  and  just  at 
the  same  moment  the  small  maid-servant  entered  the  room,  and 
placed  Mrs.  Warrener' s  card  before  the  young  master. 

Mr.  Miller  was  alarmed,  and  looked  it.  He  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused for  a  moment  or  two,  and  left  the  room.  When  he  found 
Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter  awaiting  him,  he  hurriedly  asked 
if  any  thing  were  the  mattter  with  Mr.  Drummond. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  making  a  desperate  effort  to  re- 
main calm,  "  my  brother  is  getting  on  very  well.  It  is  about 
another  matter.  Mr.  Miller,  do  you  know  whether  Violet  North 
is  alive  ?" 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  startled  him ;  he  had  not  been 
prepared  for  it.  He  only  stared  at  her  in  confusion  and  bewil- 
derment ;  he  had  not  an  answer  ready. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Miller,"  cried  Amy  Warrener,  with  a  pathetic  en- 
treaty in  her  voice,  "  I  can  see  you  know  where  she  is — she  is 
alive !     You  will  tell  us  where  Violet  is  ?" 

"  Really — "  said  he,  and  then  he  stopped  in  vexatious  embar- 
rassment ;  for,  short  of  a  downright  lie,  there  was  scarcely  a  word 
he  could  say  that  would  not  commit  him,  while  silence  would  be 
nearly  as  fatal  to  the  promise  he  had  given  Violet.  "  Really — 
this  is  most  extraordinary —  Violet  North  alive —  And  you 
come  to  me !" 

"  Yes,  we  come  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  bitterly.  "  Can 
you  deny  that  she  is  alive  ?  Can  you  deny  that  you  have  kept 
this  knowledge  to  yourself  ? — for  what  purposes  I  can  not  tell — 
and  have  looked  on  at  our  misery,  and  the  misery  of  her  relatives, 
without  a  touch  of  pity  ?     Oh,  I  am  ashamed  to  think  of  it !" 

Well,  George  Miller  began  to  grow  angry.  It  became  clear 
that,  however  Violet's  friends  had  come  to  know  of  her  existence, 
the  whole  pack  of  them  would  be  down  upon  him — he,  poor  in- 
nocent, having  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  matter  than  the  man 
in  the  moon.  It  was  too  bad.  Here  he  was  about  to  be  accused 
of  all  sorts  of  things,  with  his  mouth  shut  by  that  promise  so  that 
he  could  not  say  a  word  in  his  defense. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  lie ;  "  what 
makes  you  think  that  Violet  is  alive?" 

"  Can  you  deny  that  you  know  she  is  alive  ?"  said  Mrs.  War- 
rener, warmly. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  an  uneasy  laugh,  "  this  is  madness — pure 


378  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

madness.  If  I  had  known  she  was  alive,  why  should  I  have  con- 
cealed it  ?  What  could  I  gain  by  concealing  it  ?  Why,  the  thing 
is  so  absurd  !  But,  tell  me,  what  has  suggested  all  this  to  you  ? 
Why  do  you  think  she  is  alive  ?" 

Mrs.  AVarrener  did  not  answer  his  questions ;  she  believed 
them  to  be  mere  empty  phrases.  It  was  clear  to  her,  from  his  re- 
fusal to  deny  his  knowledge  of  Violet's  existence,  that  all  this  wild 
story  was  true ;  and  that  her  brother's  sudden  and  strange  inter- 
pretation of  the  message  was  something  more  than  the  morbid 
fancy  of  a  sick  man. 

"  And  so  you  will  not  tell  us  where  Violet  is  ?"  she  said,  firmly. 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  a  servant,  who  did 
not  know  there  was  any  body  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  ladies 
from  the  dining-room  trooped  in.  Certainly  they  looked  suffi- 
ciently astonished  to  find  Mr.  Miller,  obviously  in  great  embarrass- 
ment, standing  in  earnest  conversation  with  those  two  persons 
dressed  in  deep  mourning ;  and,  indeed,  the  two  black  figures 
formed  a  singular  contrast  to  the  blaze  of  costume  worn  by  Mrs. 
Miller  and  her  friends. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  young  man,  hastily,  to  a  tall  and  stately 
woman,  fair  and  good-looking,  who  wore  heavy  bracelets;  "let 
me  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter :  you  have 
heard  me  speak  of  them." 

Mrs.  Miller  bowed  coldly :  she  thought  it  was  an  inopportune 
moment  for  a  visit. 

"And  I  will  tell  you  why  my  daughter  and  myself  are  here  at 
such  an  hour,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  courage,  and  she  spoke 
rapidly  and  with  great  emotion.  "  Some  months  ago  a  young 
friend  of  ours — she  was  our  greatest  friend — was  supposed  to  be 
drowned,  when  she  was  on  a  visit  with  us  to  the  Highlands.  She 
was  not  drowned.  She  ran  away — why,  I  do  not  know ;  and  we 
have  mourned  for  her  as  if  she  were  dead,  for  she  was  very  dear 
to  us.  And  now  your  son  here,  who  knows  where  she  is,  who 
has  allowed  her  relatives  to  grieve  for  her  all  this  time,  he  will 
not  say  a  single  word  to  restore  the  girl  to  her  friends.  Are  you 
surprised  that — that  I  should  intrude  on  you,  when  that  is  what 
I  have  come  to  ask  him  ?" 

Her  voice  trembled  with  indignation,  and  she  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  her  story  from  these  strangers,  who  looked  on  in  amaze- 
ment. 


UNINVITED    GUESTS.  379 

"George,  what  is  this?"  said  the  tall,  fair  woman,  remaining 
quite  calm.     "  Is  it  about  Miss  North  ?" 

His  face  was  red  with  vexation,  and  there  was  an  angry  frown 
on  his  brows.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  got  hold  of  Violet 
at  that  moment  to  say,  "  Look  here ;  this  is  a  pretty  thing  you 
have  let  me  in  for!"  But  as  it  was,  he  had  to  answer  something. 
It  was  an  ugly  indictment. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  about  Miss  North,"  said  he,  sulkily ;  "  she 
caused  me  enough  trouble  when  she  was  alive,  and  it  seems  I 
have  not  done  with  it  yet.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Warrener  will  tell  you 
what  reasons  she  has  for  believing  all  this  extraordinary  story ;  / 
can't  make  them  out." 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  said  the  pale,  little  woman,  with  increasing 
indignation,  "  I  should  be  ashamed  to  make  such  pretenses.  If 
you  have  had  no  pity  on  the  girl's  family  or  on  her  friends  all 
this  time,  at  least  do  something  to  repair  the  wrong  by  speaking 
now.     Mr.  Miller,  where  is  Violet?" 

She  suddenly  altered  her  tono  to  one  of  piteous  entreaty. 

"  I  don't  know  where  she  is,"  he  answered,  angrily ;  "  I  don't 
care  where  she  is — I  don't  want  to  know  any  thing  about  her — I 
wish  to  goodness  she  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea!" 

"  George,"  his  mother  said,  severely,  "  this  is  strange  language. 
Remember  you  are  speaking  to  a  lady.  And  you  certainly  seem 
to  suggest  that  Miss  North  is  not  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  as  her 
friends  supposed  she  was.     Do  you  know  where  she  is  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it." 

"Ask  him,  Mrs.  Miller,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  suddenly  bursting 
into  tears,  "  ask  him  if  he  can  deny  that  our  Violet  is  alive.  Ask 
him  if  he  has  not  seen  her — if  he  does  not  know  that  she  is 
alive?" 

"  George,  answer  at  once  !" 

"  What  is  the  use  of  answering  such  questions?  Doesn't  ev- 
ery body  know  the  girl  is  dead  ?" 

His  mother  regarded  him  narrowly,  and  said,  slowly, 

"You  must  answer  me,  then.  Do  you  believe  the  girl  to  be 
dead  ?" 

"  It  is  none  of  my  business,"  said  he,  impatiently ;  "  if  her 
friends  think  she  is  alive,  let  them  find  her.  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  her.     I  tell  you  I  don't  know  where  she  is." 

"  Oh,  shame  on  you  !"  said  Mrs.  Warrener ;  "  I  did  not  believe 


380  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

a  human  being  could  be  so  cruel,  so  indifferent,  so  heartless.  But 
I  will  appeal  to  the  girl's  father ;  it  is  he  who  must  take  the  mat- 
ter into  his  hands.  Mrs.  Miller,  I  beg  your  pardon,  and  your 
friends'  pardon,  for  this  intrusion.  I  am  sorry  to  have  caused  you 
trouble.     Come,  Amy." 

The  little  woman  was  crying.  She  merely  bowed  as  she  turned 
away,  but  Mrs.  Miller  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly,  and 
accompanied  her  into  the  hall. 

"  All  this  is  very  strange,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  she,  in  kindly 
accents,  "  and  the  conduct  of  my  son,  if  he  really  knows  about 
this  girl  being  alive,  is  most  inexcusable.  Believe  me,  I  will  see 
what  can  be  done  to  get  the  matter  properly  explained.  Don't 
think  the  worst  of  him  just  yet ;  there  may  be  some  reason  we 
don't  know." 

Many  strange  and  conflicting  emotions  passed  through  Mrs. 
Warrener's  heart  as  she  and  her  daughter  went  home  through 
the  dusky  night,  and  she  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  glad 
or  sad  when  she  informed  her  brother  of  the  result  of  her  mis- 
sion. 

"  Amy,"  she  said,  "  you  saw  his  face.  Can  you  doubt  that  he 
knows  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  mamma,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 

"And  then,  James,  his  absolute  refusal  to  deny  that  he  had 
seen  her  since  we  were  in  the  Highlands.  His  mother  pressed 
him  to  answer;  it  was  no  use.  It  is  as  clear  to  me  as  noonday 
that  he  knows  where  Violet  is." 

"  That  is  not  much  matter,"  said  the  invalid,  absently ;  "  the 
great  fact  is  that  Violet  still  remains  to  us.  We  may  see  her  yet, 
coming  in  by  the  door  there,  with  the  bashful,  amused  look  she 
used  to  have.  We  will  ask  her  no  questions  at  all ;  she  has  a 
right  to  her  own  secrets." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  James,"  said  his  sister,  with  some  touch 
of  indignation  in  her  voice ;  "  but  I  can  not  help  thinking  of  all 
we  have  suffered,  and  you  especially,  all  on  account  of  this  fool- 
ish trick.  What  was  the  cause  of  your  illness?  I  know  very 
well.  And  her  poor  father,  too.  When  I  think  of  that  young 
man,  Miller,  and  of  his  having  known  this  all  along,  and  his  hy- 
pocrisy in  coming  here — oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  think ;  I  don't 
know  which  of  the  two  is  the  worse." 

"  Sarah,  you  must  say  no  word  against  Violet.      You  know 


A    BRINGER    OF    EVIL.  381 

nothing  against  her;  you  know  nothing  of  the  circumstances. 
It  is  enough  that  she  is  alive." 

The  small  maid-servant  brought  in  the  Christmas  dinner;  it 
was  not  a  gorgeous  feast.  The  invalid  had  his  plate  placed  on  a 
chair  by  the  side  of  his  couch.  When  the  banquet  was  over,  he 
turned  to  his  niece. 

"Amy,"  said  he,  "fill  up  these  three  glasses.  Sarah,  we  are 
going  to  drink  health  and  happiness  to  our  Violet — long  life  and 
health  and  happiness,  and  many  more  Christmas  evenings,  pleas- 
anter  than  I  suspect  this  one  has  been  to  her.  I  never  thought 
we  should  be  able  to  do  that.  Wherever  she  is,  whatever  may 
have  been  her  reasons  for  leaving  us,  whether  we  ever  see  her 
again  or  not,  no  matter.  Here  is  to  her  long  life  and  happiness, 
and  God  bless  her !" 

Mrs.  Warrener  looked  at  the  lean  and  trembling  hand  that  held 
up  the  glass,  and  there  was  but  a  doubtful  "Amen  1"  in  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  BRINGER  OP  EVIL. 

George  Miller  was  to  have  spent  the  two  days  following 
Christmas  with  this  family  party  which  had  been  gathered  to- 
gether at  Sydenham  Hill ;  but  after  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Warrener 
and  her  daughter  he  saw  fit  to  change  his  intention.  For  the 
rest  of  that  evening  even  his  own  mother  held  aloof  from  him : 
again  and  again  he  vowed  to  himself  that  it  was  really  too  bad, 
but  that  this  was  what  always  came  of  one's  getting  one's  self 
mixed  up  with  the  romantic  sentimentalities  of  a  woman. 

Next  morning  he  left  the  house,  and  went  straight  up  to  the 
lodgings  which  he  understood  that  Violet  North  occupied.  The 
more  he  thought  of  his  wrongs,  the  more  angry  he  became,  until, 
when  he  knocked  at  the  door,  he  was  simply  in  a  towering  rage. 
He  would  have  an  end  of  all  this  mystery.  He  would  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  this  concealment.  It  was  all  very  well 
for  her  to  go  off  scot-free,  leaving  him  under  the  imputation — 
against  which  he  could  bring  no  testimony  whatever — of  having 
inveigled  the  girl  away  from  her  friends  and  aided  her  in  a  shame- 
ful piece  of  deceit.     No,  he  would  have  no  more  of  this. 


382  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

The  landlady  herself  came  to  the  door:  as  it  happened,  she 
was  in  a  rage  too,  for  she  had  just  been  quarreling  -with  one  of 
her  domestics. 

"Does  Miss  North — I  mean  Miss  Main — live  here?"  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  No,  she  don't." 

He  was  staggered.  He  looked  at  the  number  over  the  door ; 
he  had  made  no  mistake. 

"  She  did  live  here,"  continued  the  landlady,  regarding  his  be- 
wilderment with  a  morose  satisfaction.  "  She's  goin'  away  o' 
Monday." 

"  On  Monday  !"  said  he.     "And  where  is  she  now?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Gone  away  for  a  'oliday,  I  believe." 

"  But  surely  she  will  be  back  here  before  she  goes  to — New 
York  ?" 

"  I  suppose  she  will,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  gloomy  indiffer- 
ence, "  'cause  her  things  are  still  in  her  room.  She'll  be  back  o' 
Monday." 

"You  don't  know  what  hour  she  will  call  for  her  luggage?" 

"  No." 

"  Thank  you.     Good-morning." 

She  shut  the  door ;  and  he  was  left  standing  there,  in  about  as 
pleasant  a  predicament,  according  to  his  notions,  as  had  ever  en- 
trapped a  human  being.  Doubtless  she  had  her  passage  taken. 
She  would  come  up  at  some  unexpected  hour  on  Monday,  whisk 
off  her  luggage  in  a  four-wheeled  cab,  and  be  on  her  way  to  Liv- 
erpool, or  Holyhead,  or  Southampton,  before  any  one  was  any 
the  wiser.  Nay,  if  he  were  to  stand  in  Great  Titchfield  Street  from 
early  morning  until  she  appeared,  how  could  he  prevent  her  go- 
ing? He  could  not  appeal  to  the  police.  It  is  true,  he  could 
scold  her,  and  show  her  the  rough  usage  he  was  experiencing  all 
through  her  folly ;  but  he  could  not  compel  her  to  release  him 
from  the  promise  she  had  exacted ;  while  he  looked  forward  to 
the  pleasing  prospect  of  a  somewhat  warm  interview  with  Sir 
Acton  North. 

He  walked  away  from  Great  Titchfield  Street  somewhat  gloom- 
ily. Besides  his  sense  of  personal  injury,  he  had  an  uncomfort- 
able feeling  that  a  cleverer  person  than  himself — one  like  Mr. 
Drummond,  for  example,  who  was  familiar  with  hair-splitting — 
could  have  hit  upon  some  fair  and  good  reason  for  pitching  over 


A    BRINGER    OF    EVIL.  383 

this  promise  which  would  save  his  conscience.  He  himself,  in 
his  own  way,  tried  to  find  out  some  such  salve.  What  was  a 
promise  ?  Not  any  thing  in  itself  ;  but  only  of  use  and  value  as 
long  as  it  secured  its  object.  Very  well,  then.  What  did  Violet 
want?  To  get  away  from  England  to  some  place  where  no  one 
would  ever  hear  of  her  again,  where  she  should  be  as  one  dead. 
Very  well,  again.  She  should  have  her  wish.  She  should  leave 
on  Monday  for  New  York.  Her  wishes  would  be  respected. 
But  after  she  was  gone,  and  all  she  wanted  secured,  why  should 
he  continue  to  be  the  victim  of  a  blunder?  Why  should  not  he 
confess  the  truth  to  Sir  Acton  North  and  Mr.  Drummond,  and 
clear  himself?  That  could  not  affect  Violet  in  any  way.  He 
would  not  tell  them  whither  she  had  gone — only  that  she  had  left 
England  without  leaving  behind  her  any  information  as  to  her 
future  plans.  Moreover,  this  would  not  be  telling  them  that  she 
was  alive ;  for  they  seemed  to  know  that  already.  And  as  they 
knew  that,  he  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  the  world  that  some 
blunder  of  hers  had  conveyed  the  information  to  them ;  and  was 
he  to  bear  the  brunt  of  any  more  of  her  caprices  ? 

Meanwhile  Violet  North,  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she  had 
known  for  many  a  day,  was  seated  in  a  railway-carriage  and  being 
swiftly  carried  down  to  Windsor.  The  forenoon  was  singularly 
bright  and  clear ;  the  sunshine  shone  on  the  meadows  that  had 
been  washed  green  by  the  recent  heavy  rains,  on  the  brown 
plowed  fields,  where  the  flocks  of  rooks  and  starlings  were  busy, 
and  on  the  dark  lines  of  copse  that  were  here  and  there  almost 
black  against  the  pale  blue-and-white  sky.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
now  at  last  she  was  escaping  from  the  prison  that  had  hemmed 
her  in  since  her  return  from  Scotland.  All  her  preparations  for 
her  flight  into  the  freedom  of  the  Far  West  had  been  made.  The 
bitter  agony  of  parting  was  over.  Soon  she  would  stand  on  the 
deck  of  a  noble  vessel,  and,  looking  back  to  the  receding  land  of 
her  birth,  would  know  that  her  great  sacrifice  was  now  accom- 
plished, and  that  she  was  leaving  that  dearest  of  all  her  friends 
with  the  prospect  daily  coming  nearer  him  of  a  return  to  his  old 
glad  ways,  and  health,  and  cheerful  spirits. 

She  already  felt  herself  enfranchised.  There  was  now  an  end 
to  the  weary  days  over  that  desk,  to  the  lonely  evenings  in  the 
small  room,  to  the  constant  fear  of  discovery,  and  to  the  tempta- 
tion to  wander  over  to  the  south  side  of  the  river,  with  all  the  sore 


384  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

bitterness  of  heart  that  these  visits  occasioned.  She  had  made 
her  last  pilgrimage  in  that  direction  the  night  before ;  and  it  had 
been  a  terrible  one.  All  her  life  through  she  would  never  forget 
that  night — the  still,  dark,  Christmas-night ;  her  ghost-like  steal- 
ing up  to  the  cottage  in  which  her  friends  sat  together;  her  un- 
spoken, unheard,  but  agonizing  farewell.  No  more  of  that.  The 
brighter  days  were  coming.  Had  she  not  said  that  in  the  future 
she  would  always  think  of  those  former  companions  of  hers  as 
cheerful  and  happy — wandering  in  the  sweet  air  of  the  Highlands 
— gay  with  the  sports  of  hill-side  and  loch — enjoying  the  present, 
and  forgetful  of  all  the  old  bitterness  of  the  past  ? 

So  she  interested  herself  in  the  various  out-of-door  sights  of 
this  bright  forenoon — the  young  wheat,  the  leafless  orchards,  the 
heavy  wagons  laboring  along  the  muddy  roads,  and  the  fields 
showing  here  and  there  patches  of  water,  the  result  of  the  recent 
rains.  She  began  to  look  out  for  signs  of  the  great  floods  of 
which  she  had  heard ;  and  about  Drayton  those  patches  of  water 
in  the  fields  became  more  marked.  Then  she  caught  a  glimpse, 
before  getting  to  Slough,  of  the  great,  spectral  bulk  of  Windsor's 
Avails  and  turrets  rising,  pale  and  ethereal,  into  the  blue  and  white 
overhead.  On  again ;  and  now  she  caught  sight  of  lines  of  white 
behind  the  distant  trees,  and  the  hedges  seemed  to  be  growing  in 
a  lake.  But  what  were  these  scattered  objects  to  the  richly  col- 
ored and  brilliant  picture  that  lay  before  her  as  the  train  ran  in 
toward  Windsor  ?  The  great  castle,  with  its  lofty  towers,  was  a 
mass  of  shadow,  and  so  was  the  picturesque  group  of  houses  un- 
derneath it  by  the  river ;  but  here,  close  at  hand,  the  brilliant  sun 
shone  on  the  red  houses  and  the  silvery -gray  turrets  of  Eton, 
while  all  around  was  a  vast  sheet  of  smooth  water  reflecting  the 
blues  and  whites  of  the  sky.  This  immense  lake  was  broken  only 
by  lines  of  pollard  willows,  and  by  some  groups  of  trees  in  the 
distance  that  seemed  to  have  still  about  them  some  touch  of  au- 
tumn yellow.  Boys  were  paddling  boats  up  the  Eton  lanes ; 
still  farther  a-field  a  great  punt  was  going  the  round  of  some 
workmen's  cottages,  which  were  completely  surrounded  by  the 
water. 

Both  Mr.  Dowse  and  his  son  were  awaiting  her  at  the  station ; 
they  had  driven  over  in  a  dog-cart.  When  Violet  got  up  beside 
Mr.  Dowse,  senior,  who  was  driving,  he  promised  her  a  rare  sight. 
Edward  Dowse  got  up  behind,  and  away  they  went. 


A    BRINGER    OF    EVIL.  385 

They  paused  for  a  moment  on  Eton  Bridge  to  look  at  the 
mighty  volume  of  yellow -green  water  which,  coming  from  the 
great  lake  that  stretched  all  across  the  Brocas  meadows,  hurled 
itself  against  the  massive  stone  piers,  and  then,  rushing  through 
between,  spread  itself  out  far  and  wide  again,  indicating  only  here 
and  there,  by  a  summer-house,  or  some  such  isolated  object,  the 
gardens  and  orchards  it  had  submerged.  They  drove  along  the 
winding  thoroughfare,  catching  here  and  there  a  glimpse  of  a  boat 
at  the  end  of  a  street.  As  they  passed  out  into  the  country,  they 
found  the  Playing-fields  a  sheet  of  olive -green  water,  the  large 
elms  only  being  visible.  From  Fifteen-arch  Bridge  the  view  was 
picturesque  enough — the  isolated  lines  of  trees  lighted  up  by  the 
sun ;  the  great  plain  of  water  with  its  dashes  of  blue ;  here  and 
there  a  red -brick  house  surrounded  by  evergreens;  and  right  in 
front  of  them  a  group  of  people  waiting  to  be  ferried  across  a 
part  of  the  road  which  the  floods  had  submerged. 

"  How  shall  we  get  across  ?"  she  asked. 

They  were  standing  still  on  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  to  have 
a  look  at  the  scene  in  front  of  them. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Dowse,  carelessly.  "  The  water  is 
not  very  deep." 

Perhaps  he  was  a  little  too  careless;  for  on  starting  to  go 
down  the  slope  to  this  hollow  where  the  water  lay,  the  horse  he 
was  driving  stumbled  badly,  and,  on  recovering,  got  an  admonish- 
ing cut  from  his  master.  Whether  this  trifling  accident  had  flut- 
tered his  nerves,  or  whether  some  sudden  gleam  of  the  water  at 
his  feet  startled  him,  can  only  be  guessed ;  but,  at  all  events,  the 
animal  all  at  once  became  unmanageably  restive.  He  reared  and 
plunged,  splashing  the  water  about  him,  and  causing  the  women 
who  were  standing  by  —  waiting  for  the  punt  —  to  scream  with 
alarm. 

"  Hold  tight !"  Mr.  Dowse  called  out  to  Violet. 

The  warning  was  just  given  in  time ;  for  the  next  instant  the 
horse  made  a  sudden  plunge  to  one  side  of  the  road,  which  near- 
ly threw  the  dog-cart  bodily  into  the  deeper  water  by  the  side  of 
the  highway ;  and  then  it  dashed  madly  forward.  The  driver 
had  no  sort  of  control  over  it ;  but  fortunately  the  road  in  front 
was  pretty  straight.  And  so  away  they  went  at  a  furious  pace,  to 
the  no  small  consternation  of  one  or  two  people  who  were  com- 
ing along  the  road ;  and  so  intent  were  Mr.  Dowse  and  Violet  in 

IV 


386  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

watching  the  excited  animal  that  was  now  placing  their  lives  in 
jeopardy  that  they  had  not  the  slightest  notion  that  they  alone 
were  the  occupants  of  the  vehicle.  When  the  horse  swerved  in 
the  hollow,  young  Dowse  had  been  pitched  clean  off  the  back- 
seat of  the  dog-cart,  falling  heavily  on  the  wooden  palings  by  the 
side  of  the  road. 

The  way  was  clear  before  them ;  and  in  time  the  runaway 
horse  showed  symptoms  of  moderating  his  speed.  He  was  final- 
ly stopped  by  a  wagoner,  who,  happening  to  look  back,  and  see- 
ing what  had  occurred,  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  draw  his 
huge  wagon  right  across  the  road,  completely  blocking  all  passage. 
There  was  no  collision.  The  man  got  hold  of  the  head  of  the 
animal,  which  now  stood  trembling  and  excited ;  and  then  it  was 
that  Mr.  Dowse  discovered  that  his  son  was  missing.- 

"  Good  heavens !"  he  said,  "  where  is  Ted  V 

They  looked  back ;  there  were  one  or  two  people  running  to- 
ward them.  When  these  came  up,  the  news  was  brief,  but  ter- 
rible enough.  The  young  gentleman  had  been  pitched  right  on 
his  head.  He  was  lying  insensible.  They  had  sent  in  to  Eton 
for  a  surgeon. 

"Go  back  to  him,"  said  Violet,  instantly,  to  her  companion  ; 
"  I  will  wait  here  with  the  dog-cart." 

Mr.  Dowse  seemed  stupefied.  He  did  not  think  what  he  was 
doing  in  leaving  this  girl  in  charge  of  a  frightened  horse,  even 
although  the  great  wagon  still  blocked  the  way. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "stay  here  for  a  minute  —  I  must  see — 
what  has  happened." 

He  set  out  to  run.  He  met  one  or  two  country  people ;  he 
asked  them  no  questions.  Then  he  came  in  sight  of  a  group  of 
persons  standing  by  the  roadside,  not  far  from  the  spot  where  the 
horse  had  bolted. 

The  young  man  was  in  the  middle  of  that  group,  his  head  sup- 
ported on  a  friendly  knee.  He  was  apparently  lifeless ;  not  even 
a  groan  escaped  him.  There  was  no  outward  sign  of  injury,  ex- 
cept a  slight  trace  of  blood  about  the  lips. 

"  Stand  back !"  the  father  said,  sternly,  to  the  small  and  eager 
crowd.  "  Stand  back,  and  give  him  air !  You  have  sent  for  a 
surgeon  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Ted !  Teddy !"  the  elder  man  cried,  with  some  vague  hope 


A    BRINGER    OF    EVIL.  387 

of  arousing  his  son  to  consciousness.  "Are  you  badly  hurt, 
lad  ?" 

There  was  no  answer.     He  looked  despairingly  around. 

"  Is  there  a  drop  of  brandy  to  be  had — or  whisky?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  that,  either.  Fortunately,  at  this  mo- 
ment a  brougham  came  along  the  road,  the  only  occupant  of 
which  was  an  old  lady  who,  although  unknown  personally  to  the 
Dowses,  was  a  neighbor  of  theirs,  and  knew  them  by  sight.  When 
she  discovered  what  had  occurred,  she  instantly  placed  her  car- 
riage at  Mr.  Dowse's  disposal.  The  apparently  lifeless  body  was 
lifted  in ;  the  father  followed ;  and  the  coachman  was  bid  to 
drive  gently  on  to  The  Laurels. 

They  came  up  to  the  point  at  which  Violet  had  been  left. 
She  was  now  down  in  the  road. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  she  said,  with  a  pale  face,  to  Mr. 
Dowse ;  but  the  sight  she  saw  inside  the  carriage  was  enough. 

"  Will  you  get  some  of  the  people  to  bring  the  dog-cart  along?" 
said  Mr.  Dowse.     It  was  not  an  occasion  for  ceremony. 

They  drove  on  again  with  that  mournful  burden ;  and  she, 
having  given  the  wagoner  half  a  crown  to  leave  his  wagon  for  a 
few  minutes  and  take  the  horse  and  dog -cart  on  to  Mr.  Dowse's 
house,  walked  slowly  after.  There  were  gloomy  forebodings  in 
her  mind.  That  slowly  driven  carriage  away  along  there  seemed 
to  be  like  a  hearse.  Why  was  it  that,  wherever  she  went,  death, 
or  the  semblance  of  death,  dogged  her  footsteps,  and  was  forever 
plucking  the  sunshine  out  of  the  sky  ?  Her  coming  seemed  to 
be  the  signal  for  the  coming  of  all  misfortunes ;  birds  of  evil 
omen  followed  after  her;  she  was  as  one  doomed,  association 
with  whom  was  fatal. 

Trembling  and  full  of  fear,  she  walked  up  to  the  house.  She 
dreaded  to  hear  the  wail  of  a  mother  over  her  only  son ;  she  im- 
agined the  reproach  with  winch  that  mother  would  raise  her 
eyes  from  her  son's  pallid  face  and  fix  them  on  this  stranger, 
who  seemed  the  herald  and  the  occasion  of  all  evil  things. 

The  poor  mother  had  no  such  thoughts  in  her  head :  even  if 
this  were  a  time  for  affixing  responsibility,  she  certainly  would 
not  have  considered  Violet  to  be  the  cause  of  this  lamentable  ac- 
cident. But,  all  the  same,  the  girl  was  oppressed  by  some  strange 
feeling  that  it  was  dangerous  for  any  one  to  be  linked,  in  how- 
ever slight  a  degree,  with  one  whom  evil  fortune  had  marked  out 


388  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

for  its  own ;  and  so  it  was  that  she  did  not  dare  to  go  into  that 
room  where,  as  she  knew,  the  young  man  lay,  watched  by  his  ago- 
nized parents.  All  the  doors  were  open.  She  walked  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  sat  down  alone.  Then  she  heard  the  doctor's 
carriage  drive  up  to  the  front  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

REPENTANCE. 

On  the  morning  after  Christmas,  Mrs.  Warrener  carried  her 
great  news  up  to  Lady  North ;  and  that  circumspect,  prim  little 
woman  was  a  good  deal  more  agitated  than  usual,  and  her  cold, 
observant  gray  eyes  were  full  of  wonder. 

"  It  is  a  strange  story,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  Do 
you  believe  it  yourself?  Can  you  believe  it?  You  know  the 
fancies  that  get  into  the  heads  of  persons  who  are  ill ;  and  you 
know  your  brother  has  been  delirious." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  "  and  my  first  im- 
pression last  night  was  that  he  was  wandering  again ;  but  no — 
not  at  all ;  and  then,  as  I  have  told  you,  Mr.  Miller  confirms  my 
belief.  I  am  sure  he  knows  all  about  her.  I  want  Sir  Acton  to 
go  to  him ;  his  authority  will  get  at  the  truth." 

"  My  husband  is  in  Belgium,  Mrs.  Warrener.  Do  you  think, 
do  you  really  think,  I  should  be  justified  in  telegraphing  to  him 
to  come  home  ?" 

"  Most  decidedly,"  said  Violet's  friend,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"  You  are  so  sure  all  this  is  true  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"He  will  think  I  have  gone  mad  if  I  tell  him  why  he  is  to 
come  home." 

"  Then  don't  tell  him.     Merely  say  that  he  is  urgently  wanted." 

"  And  in  the  mean  while — " 

"  In  the  mean  while,  we  ought  to  put  an  advertisement  in  the 
papers  which  may  catch  Violet's  eye.  And  perhaps  you  might 
go  to  Mr.  Miller  and  beg  him  to  tell  you  where  Violet  is.  He 
may  be  kinder  to  you  than  he  was  to  me." 


REPENTANCE.  389 

"  But — but — "  said  Lady  North,  still  a  little  bewildered,  "  what 
could  be  his  object  in  concealing  the  fact  ?  Is  it  possible  he  has 
been  looking  at  us  all  this  time  wearing  mourning  for  a  girl 
whom  he  knew  to  be  alive?" 

"  That  part  of  it  I  can't  make  out  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener, 
rather  wistfully.     "  But  I  am  sure  that  Violet  is  in  London." 

The  advertisement  appeared  in  several  of  the  newspapers  on 
the  Monday  morning ;  probably  few  cared  to  pause  and  speculate 
over  the  story  that  lay  behind  such  an  ordinary  notice  as  this : 

"  Violet  JV , —  We  all  knoio  that  you  are  alive  and  in  London. 

Pray  return.  We  will  do  every  thing  you  can  desire  to  secure 
your  happiness.'1'1  But  George  Miller  knew  the  story ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  saw  this  advertisement,  he  promptly  said  to  himself, 

"  Very  well.  They  all  know,  without  my  telling  them.  I  have 
not  broken  any  promise ;  it  is  no  fault  of  mine  that  they  know. 
But,  now  they  do  know,  am  I  to  be  made  the  victim  of  a  pre- 
tense at  concealment  which  is  no  concealment  at  all  ?" 

That  reasoning  entirely  satisfied  him.  Violet  had  had  her 
wish,  in  so  far  as  she  was  leaving  the  country  without  his  having 
spoken  a  single  word  about  her  being  alive  to  any  person ;  and, 
so  soon  as  she  had  really  left,  and  disappeared  without  leaving 
any  trace  behind  her,  he  considered  he  would  be  justified  in  clear- 
ing away  the  suspicions  under  which  he  had  been  most  unjustly 
placed.  By  which  route  would  she  leave  England  ?  In  any  case, 
she  would  be  clear  off  on  Wednesday  night.  On  Wednesday, 
therefore,  he  would  show  his  friends  how  harshly  they  had  dealt 
with  him ;  and  by  that  time  Violet  would  be  safe  from  pursuit, 
for  neither  he  nor  they  would  know  when,  or  by  which  line,  she 
had  gone  to  America. 

The  cup  of  his  troubles  and  mortification,  however,  was  not 
yet  full.  On  the  Monday  evening,  just  as  he  was  going  along  to 
his  club,  Lady  North  and  Anatolia  drove  up  to  his  rooms  in  Half 
Moon  Street,  and  stopped  him  on  the  pavement. 

"You  will  excuse  our  calling  on  you  at  such  a  time,  Mr.  Mil- 
ler ;  but  we  thought  we  should  most  likely  catch  you  now,"  said 
Lady  North. 

lie  inwardly  made  use  of  language  which,  had  they  heard  it, 
would  have  frightened  his  two  visitors  out  of  their  wits.  It  was 
too  bad,  he  thought.  Here  he  was  to  undergo  a  repetition  of  the 
scene  already  enacted  at  Sydenham  Hill ;  and  as  it  was  women, 


390  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

and  always  women,  who  came  to  put  him  under  a  raking  fire  of 
Indignant  reproaches,  what  answer  could  he  make  ?  He  was  not 
much  of  a  heroic  person  ;  hut  he  would  twenty  times  rather  have 
encountered  the  menaces  of  Violet's  father. 

"  Will  you  walk  up-stairs  ?"  said  he,  with  great  courtesy,  as  he 
opened  the  door  with  his  latch-key. 

He  lighted  the  candles  on  the  table. 

"  Can  I  offer  you  some  tea,  Lady  North  ?  A  couple  of  min- 
utes—" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Lady  North.  She  was  a  little  fright- 
ened ;  and  she  concealed  her  fright  under  a  demeanor  of  cold 
and  proud  reserve.  She  also  seemed  to  add  some  inches  to  her 
stature  as  she  continued,  "  Of  course,  you  know  why  we  have 
come." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  he,  sulkily.  "  Mrs.  Warrener 
has  been  to  you  with  that  absurd  story." 

"  Is  it  absurd  ?"  Lady  North  said.  "  Mr.  Miller,  you  surely 
can  not  mean  to  trifle  with  us  in  such  a  matter.     Is  it  true  ?" 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  come  to  me  at  all,"  said  he,  be- 
coming a  little  more  vehement.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  it.  Mrs. 
Warrener  comes  over  to  our  house,  on  a  Christmas  evening,  when 
we  have  a  family  party  gathered  together,  and  straightway  be- 
gins to  accuse  me,  before  all  these  people,  of  all  manner  of  things ; 
and  of  course,  as  she  is  a  woman,  I  can't  give  her  the  answer  I 
would  give  to  a  man.  I  think  it  is  rather  hard.  And  now,  I 
suppose,  you  too,  Lady  North,  mean  to  do  the  same  thing.  Well, 
I  can't  help  it." 

He  affected  an  air  of  resignation.  But  Lady  North  was  much 
cooler  than  Mrs.  Warrener  had  been ;  and  she  was  not  to  be  put 
off  by  this  specious  show  of  injury. 

"  You  know  very  well,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  she,  calmly,  "  that  a  sin- 
gle word  of  yours  would  relieve  you  at  once  from  those  very  seri- 
ous charges.  I  can  not  blame  Mrs.  Warrener.  I  must  say  I  con- 
sider your  conduct  as  very  strange.  It  appears  you  can  not  deny 
your  being  aware  that  Violet  is  alive — " 

"  One  minute,  Lady  North,"  said  he,  interrupting  her,  and 
speaking  with  some  decision.  "  There  is  no  use  in  our  quarrel- 
ing ;  and  I  can  see  you  are  going  to  say  the  same  things  that  Mrs. 
Warrener  said.  That  won't  do  any  good.  But  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  will  do ;  if  you  like  to  wait  till  AVednesday  evening — the 


REPENTANCE.  391 

day  after  to-morrow — I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about  this  affair. 
And  I  won't  tell  you  before  then." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  his  visitor,  "  this  is  the  most  extraor- 
dinary conduct  on  your  part — " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  he,  his  temper  rising  again.  "  But 
don't  you  think  that  before  you  find  me  guilty  of  cruelty,  and  ca- 
price, and  all  the  rest  of  it,  you  might  wait  to  hear  what  I  have 
to  say  ?  And  if  you  would  ask  Mrs.  Warrener  to  be  present  on 
Wednesday  evening,  I  should  be  obliged  to  you.  I  wish  to  say 
a  word  or  two  to  her — " 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  say  that  I  think  Mrs.  Warrener  has 
acted  most  properly,"  observed  Lady  North,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  precisely,"  said  he,  with  some  bitterness.  "  That  is  be- 
cause you  are  as  ignorant  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case  as 
she  is." 

"  I  hope  Sir  Acton  will  be  home  by  Wednesday  evening,"  said 
Lady  North,  not  a  little  anxious  to  turn  the  whole  of  this  serious 
matter  over  to  her  husband. 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  promptly.  "  If  I  am  to  ap- 
pear before  a  family  gathering,  and  be  impeached,  and  be  put  on 
my  defense,  I  prefer  that  a  man  should  be  my  judge." 

"  I  am  sure  no  one  wishes  to  impeach  you,"  said  Lady  North, 
rather  regretfully,  "  if  you  would  only  tell  us  where  Violet  is." 

He  remained  silent.  He  was  not  to  be  caught  by  this  inno- 
cent invitation. 

"  Then  we  shall  see  you  on  Wednesday  evening,"  she  said,  ris- 
ing to  go.     "  Will  you  come  to  dinner  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  for  he  still  had  the  feeling  that  he 
had  been  badly  treated.  "A  man  going  to  be  hanged  does  not 
have  breakfast  with  the  hangman.  I  am  to  be  tried  and  convict- 
ed, you  know." 

"  I  am  sorry  if  we  have  judged  your  conduct  harshly,"  said  Lady 
North,  gently.     "  But  you  must  admit  that  we  had  some  cause." 

He  would  admit  nothing  of  the  kind.  After  his  two  visitors 
had  left,  he  walked  along  to  his  club,  and  as  he  walked  his  mind 
was  full  of  thoughts  of  vengeance,  directed  more  particularly 
against  Mrs.  Warrener,  whom  lie  regarded  as  in  most  part  respon- 
sible for  all  this  trouble.  Violet,  of  course,  was  the  first  cause. 
What  business  had  she  to  thrust  these  conditions  upon  him ;  and 
then  to  go  by  some  act  of  folly  or  other  and  let  them  know  she 


392  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

was  alone  and  in  London  ?  Then  those  other  women,  complain- 
ing, accusing,  worrying  him,  as  if  he  was  a  thief  who  had  some 
silver  spoons  secreted  about  his  person !  He  would  have  it  out 
with  them  on  the  Wednesday  evening.  He  would  not  suffer  all 
this  annoyance  for  nothing.  And  especially  would  he  have  a  re- 
tort ready  for  Mrs.  Warrener. 

He  had  dinner  by  himself ;  and  as  he  brooded  over  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  this  strange  business,  his  mind,  by  some  curious 
process,  began  to  construct  the  form  of  that  retort.  He  was  in- 
nocent :  what  if  he  threw  back  on  his  chief  accuser  the  charge  of 
being  the  origin  of  all  this  mischief  ?  Mrs.  Warrener  had  plainly 
intimated  that  he  was  the  cause  of  Violet's  having  suddenly  left 
the  Highlands,  and,  in  consequence,  of  her  having  inflicted  so  great 
an  amount  of  pain  upon  her  friends :  what  if  he  boldly  retort- 
ed, at  hap-hazard,  that  she  herself,  Mrs.  Warrener,  was  the  cause  ! 
Violet  would  not  be  there  to  contradict  him,  even  if  it  chanced 
that  what  he  said  was  inaccurate.  But  the  more  he  thought  of 
it,  the  more  he  considered  it  probable  that  Mrs.  Warrener  was  the 
cause.  He  had  seen  in  these  later  interviews  with  Violet  every 
symptom  of  the  girl's  being  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  this  man 
who  had  unwittingly  become  his  rival.  Of  Mr.  Drummond's 
great  love  and  affection  for  Violet,  the  constant  harping  on  the 
memory  of  her  that  ran  through  his  delirious  imaginings  could 
leave  no  manner  of  doubt,  if  doubt  had  at  any  time  been  possible. 
What,  then,  could  have  caused  the  girl  to  take  so  desperate  a  step 
as  that  of  pretending  she  had  been  drowned,  in  order  to  escape  for- 
ever from  her  friends  ?  Mr.  Miller  was,  in  his  own  estimation,  not 
by  any  means  a  fool.  He  knew  what  mothers  and  sisters  could 
become^  when  their  son  or  their  brother  proposed  to  introduce  a 
new  member  into  the  family.  He  knew  the  jealousy  of  women ; 
he  could  imagine  something  of  their  malign  ingenuity.  And  who 
could  possibly  be  against  this  marriage  between  Mr.  Drummond 
and  Violet,  unless  it  was  Mrs.  Warrener  herself ;  and  whose  inter- 
ests but  hers  could  suffer  ? 

"And  so,"  argued  this  young  man  with  himself,  in  great  bit- 
terness of  heart,  "having  by  some  means  or  other  made  the  girl 
miserable,  having  driven  her  from  all  her  friends,  and  made  an 
outcast  and  a  wanderer  of  her,  and  having  securely  locked  up  the 
door,  so  that  no  one  should  come  in  to  share  with  her  Drum- 
mond's small  income,  she  turns  round  on  me,  and  makes  me  out 


REPENTANCE.  393 

to  be  the  cause  of  all  this  mischief  and  misery,  and  brings  accusa- 
tions against  me  before  my  whole  family,  so  that  my  own  mother 
won't  speak  to  me  !     By  Jove,  this  must  be  set  straight !" 

When  he  went  up  to  Euston  Square  on  that  Wednesday  even- 
ing, he  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  More- 
over, he  had  conned  over  a  few  little  bits  of  rhetoric,  with  which 
to  rebut  the  astounding  charges  that  had  been  brought  against 
him.     The  trial  of  Warren  Hastings  was  nothing  to  this. 

Sir  Acton  North  was  there,  grave  and  silent :  he  would  say 
nothing  against  the  young  man  until  he  had  been  heard.  Mrs. 
Warrener  was  there  too,  with  a  great  anxiety  in  her  pale  and  gen- 
tle face.  Lady  North  was  the  third  figure  in  the  assembled  court, 
none  of  her  daughters  being  present. 

"Although  I  am  not  represented  by  counsel,"  the  young  man 
was  beginning  to  say  with  bitter  sarcasm,  when  he  was  sternly  in- 
terrupted by  Sir  Acton  North. 

"  This  is  not  a  subject  for  joking,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  he.  "  Tell 
me  at  once — is  my  daughter  alive  ?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  simple  answer.  Mrs.  Warrener  clasped  her 
hands :  there  was  not  one  there  who  loved  Violet  better  than 
she  did. 

"  Where  is  she  ?" 

"  I  don't  know."' 

An  ominous  frown  came  over  Sir  Acton  North's  forehead. 

"  Come,  sir.  You  may  have  trifled  with  those  ladies ;  you 
shall  not  trifle  with  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  where  she  is,"  George  Miller  continued,  with 
a  grand  air  of  indifference ;  "  but  I  will  tell  you  where  I  believe 
her  to  be :  I  believe  she  is  now  on  her  way  to  America.  And  if 
you  will  listen,  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about  her.  You  may 
believe  the  story  or  not ;  I  can  not  help  it  if  you  don't.  But  at 
least  I  shall  try  to  show  to  these  ladies  that  their  imagination  got 
the  better  of  them  when  they  accused  me  of  being  a  monster  of 
deceit  and  cruelty,  and  perhaps  they  will  acknowledge  that  they 
were  a  trifle  precipitate.  I  knew  nothing  at  all  about — about 
Miss  North — being  alive,  till  a  little  over  a  month  ago.  There's 
a  decorator-fellow  in  Regent  Street,  who  got  into  my  club  on  the 
strength  of  his  being  an  artist — I  believe  he  was  an  artist  at  the 
time — and  he  began  talking  to  me  one  night  about  a  mysterious 
sort  of  girl  who  was  in  his  father's  place.    He  believed  she  knew 

11* 


394  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

some  one  in  the  Judseum.  I  asked  lier  name :  he  said  it  was 
Miss  Main  ;  and  the  coincidence  struck  me,  for  I  remembered  that 
school-mistress.  I  asked  more  about  her;  some  things  seemed 
very  odd ;  I  thought  I  would  go  and  see  her.  Well,  I  watched 
her  coming  out  of  the  shop  one  evening,  and  I  made  sure  it  was 
Violet,  though  she  was  closely  veiled.  I  watched  her  once  or 
twice  ;  then  I  spoke  to  her.  It  was  Violet — I  mean,  Miss  North. 
Very  well.  I  was  a  little  taken  aback,  of  course,  for  I  could  not 
understand  it ;  but  she  said  she  wanted  every  body  to  believe  she 
was  dead.  She  was  going  away  from  England,  she  said  ;  and  she 
insisted  on  my  promising  not  to  tell  a  human  being  that  I  had 
seen  her — " 

Here  the  young  man  colored  somewhat. 

"  You  may  think  I  am  breaking  that  promise ;  but,  you  see,  I 
made  it  in  the  expectation  that  I  could  reason  her  out  of  all  this ; 
and  then,  in  any  case,  what  she  wanted  was  to  get  safely  away ; 
and  then,  when  you  all  seemed  to  know  quite  well,  what  was  the 
use  of  my  refusing  to  speak  any  longer  ?" 

These  somewhat  incoherent  reasons  had  not  been  prepared  be- 
forehand ;  there  was  no  precision  of  language  about  them.  More- 
over, the  young  man  said  nothing  of  the  further  reason  that  he 
was  determined  to  have  no  more  personal  annoyance  over  a  mat- 
ter which  did  not  concern  him. 

"  Well,  I  gave  her  my  word  of  honor  not  to  tell  you.  Perhaps 
that  was  wrong ;  but  I  was  a  little  bit  flustered,  and  I  wanted  to 
gain  time.  Then  she  said  she  had  pretended  to  be  drowned  be- 
cause she  thought  she  was  making  her  friends  miserable,  and  aft- 
er a  time  they  would  forget  her.  She  was  very  anxious  to  leave 
England,  I  could  see ;  but  when  she  asked  for  news  of  all  of  you, 
and  when  I  told  her  that  Mr.  Drummond  was  ill,  then  she  would 
not  go  until  she  had  news  of  his  getting  better.  I  had  to  go  to 
her  every  few  days  with  my  report;  she  was  very  anxious.  I 
don't  know  whether  you  believe  all  that  I  am  telling  you ;  I  can 
not  help  it  if  you  don't ;  but  I  am  telling  you  all  I  know ;  and  I 
think  it  is  very  hard  that  I  should  have  been  dragged  into  the 
matter  at  all,  and  then  get  nothing  but  angry  suspicions  for  my 
pains." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Sir  Acton.  He  was  pacing  up  and  down  one 
end  of  the  room,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  There  was  scarcely 
any  trace  of  agitation  on  the  deeply  lined  face. 


REPENTANCE.  395 

"Well,  that  is  all." 

"But  what  made  her  leave  the  Highlands  in  such  a  way?" 
cried  Lady  North.     "  Why  did  she  go  and  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  You  may  well  ask  why !"  said  Mr.  Miller,  with  some  warmth. 
"  You,  I  suppose,  were  quick  to  follow  Mrs.  Warrener  in  charging 
the  whole  thing  upon  me.  I  was  the  cause  of  it.  I  had  induced 
the  girl  to  come  to  London ;  I  had  concealed  the  fact  of  her  be- 
,ing  here ;  I  had  inflicted  all  this  misery  on  her  friends.  Perhaps 
I  might  suggest  another  version.  I  have  heard  how  even  very 
amiable  women  can  treat  a  girl  who  thinks  of  marrying  their 
brother  or  their  son.  I  know  that  Violet  was  too  proud  to  bring 
dissension  into  any  family — to  go  anywhere  as  an  intruder.  Yes, 
I  will  tell  you  my  version  of  it.  I  will  confess  that  I  wanted  to 
marry  Violet  too.  I  found  I  had  no  chance  whatever ;  she  cared 
more  for  Mr.  Drummond  than  for  every  body  else  in  the  world  ; 
what  he  thought  of  her  perhaps  Mrs.  Warrener  can  tell  you.  I 
believe  they  might  have  been  married  now,  but  for  interference. 
When  I  first  saw  her,  about  a  month  ago,  and  when  she  talked  of 
the  misery  she  had  been  causing  her  friends,  I  fancied  she  had 
dreaded  entering  into  this  marriage,  and  had  run  away  from  it  at 
all  costs ;  but  I  discovered  afterward  that  she  thought  of  noth- 
ing else  in  the  world  than  Mr.  Drummond.  Very  well,  then : 
what  was  the  cause  of  her  misery?  Who  was  the  cause  of  it? 
And  who  has  been  the  cause  of  all  this  suffering  ?" 

Lady  North  seized  the  young  man  by  the  arm. 

"  For  pity's  sake — !"  she  said. 

He  turned  from  Sir  Acton,  to  whom  he  had  been  appealing ; 
and  there  he  saw  Mrs.  Warrener,  her  head  buried  in  her  hands, 
crying  most  bitterly.  It  was  a  cruel  revenge  to  take  for  a  few 
indignant  words.  But  the  pale  little  woman  pulled  herself  to- 
gether ;  and  she  spoke  through  her  sobs. 

"  God  forgive  me  if  I  have  done  wrong,"  she  said,  "  through 
any  mistake.  But  you  do  not  know  me,  if  you  think  my  home 
was  not  as  open  to  Violet  as — as  my  heart  was.  I  loved  her  al- 
ways. I  should  have  loved  her  ten  times  more  if  she  had  mar- 
ried my  brother.  Mr.  Miller,  if  I  have  suspected  you  wrongly,  I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  some  compunction,  "you  did  suspect  me 
wrongly ;  for  you  see  how  I  was  dragged  into  this  affair  through 
no  wish  of  my  own.     And  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  hurt  your  feel- 


39G  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

ings,  Mrs.  Warrener.  You  know  better  than  any  one  else  what 
the  relations  between  you  and  Violet  were.  That  is  no  business 
of  mine." 

This  interruption  had  but  little  interest  for  Sir  Acton  North : 
he  impatiently  waited  until  these  explanations  had  been  made ; 
and  then  he  urged  the  young  man  to  continue,  and  tell  them 
what  further  steps  Violet  had  taken. 

"  She  sailed  for  America  on  Monday  last,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  But  for  what  part  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  Sir  Acton,  stopping  in  that 
hurried  pacing  to  and  fro  —  "you  don't  mean  to  say  that  she 
has  left  this  country  altogether,  without  leaving  the  least  trace 
behind  her  ?" 

"  That  was  her  intention." 

"  Oh,  it  is  monstrous !  it  is  inconceivable !  What  madness  has 
possessed  the  girl !  And  you — you  might  have  told  us  a  week 
ago-" 

"You  forget,"  said  the  younger  man,  "that  I  had  given  her 
my  word  of  honor  not  to  tell  you.  It  was  not  for  me  to  inter- 
fere. I  did  my  best  to  stop  her ;  but  when  I  saw  she  was  deter- 
mined to  go  to  America — well,  a  girl  knows  her  own  business 
best." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  those  people  in  Regent  Street  ?"  de- 
manded Sir  Acton,  abruptly. 

"  Dowse  &  Son." 

"  Do  you  know  where  they  live  ?" 

"  In  the  country  somewhere.  They  don't  live  in  London, 
though  young  Dowse  gives  himself  a  holiday  up  here  occasion- 
ally. If  you  want  to  make  inquiries  of  them,  you  must  wait  till 
to-morrow." 

All  this  time  Mrs.  Warrener  had  been  sitting  silent,  her  head 
bent  down,  the  expression  of  her  face  betraying  no  consciousness 
of  what  was  going  on  around  her.  Indeed,  her  thoughts  were 
elsewhere — away  back  in  the  past,  which  she  was  now  trying  to 
read  by  a  new  and  terrible  light.  If  George  Miller  had  resolved 
to  have  his  revenge,  he  had  now  succeeded  ;  a  horrible  fear  dark- 
ened this  poor  woman's  heart,  and  she  scarcely  dared  to  confess  to 
herself  all  the  possibilities  to  which  his  random  accusation  point- 
ed.    That  accusation,  it  is  true,  was  in  one  sense  wrong  —  even 


REPENTANCE.  397 

preposterous.  That  she  should  have  interfered  between  Violet 
and  her  brother  through  jealousy,  or  from  a  wish  to  protect  his 
small  income,  was  a  notion  that  might  occur  to  a  business-like 
young  man  like  Mr.  Miller;  not  to  her.  But  if  the  rest  of  it 
were  true  ?  If  she  had  in  reality  poisoned  these  two  minds  by 
her  innocent  misrepresentations  —  what  then?  Had  she  ruined 
the  lives  of  the  two  people  whom  she  held,  next  to  her  own 
daughter,  most  dear  in  the  world  ? 

She  rose,  pale  and  distraite,  to  bid  them  good-bye.  She  was 
sure  Sir  Acton  would  find  Violet.  He  would  let  her  know,  as 
his  inquiries  proceeded.  Mr.  Miller  would  forgive  her  if  she  had 
unintentionally  wronged  him. 

When  she  reached  home,  she  did  not  stay  to  take  off  her  bon- 
net and  things ;  she  went  straight  to  her  brother's  room.  But 
she  paused  at  the  door,  physically  unable  to  go  farther.  Strange 
tremblings  passed  through  her  frame ;  she  caught  at  the  handle 
of  the  door  to  steady  herself ;  a  giddiness  came  over  her  eyes. 
She  tried  to  form  some  notion  of  what  she  would  say  to  him,  and 
she  could  not.  The  one  great  yearning  of  her  soul  was  to  crave 
his  forgiveness  for  the  irreparable  wrong  she  had  done. 

She  managed  to  open  the  door :  he  was  lying  on  the  couch,  ap- 
parently asleep.  She  gently  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and  stole 
over  to  the  couch  and  knelt  down.  She  looked  at  the  pale,  ema- 
ciated hand  that  lay  helpless  there ;  that  was  her  doing. 

He  had  been  half  awake.  He  turned  round  and  regarded  her 
with  some  surprise.     She  could  not  speak. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Sarah  ?"  said  he. 

She  only  took  the  thin,  white  hand,  and  kissed  it  passionately, 
and  burst  into  tears.  Then  he  tried  to  raise  himself  a  bit,  and  a 
strange,  solemn  look  came  into  the  wasted  face. 

"  It  was  all  a  dream,  then,"  he  said,  with  resignation.  "  We 
shall  never  see  her  again." 

"  Oh,  James,  James !"  his  sister  cried,  with  passionate  grief ; 
"  it  will  break  my  heart  to  tell  you !  Violet  is  alive — it  was  in- 
deed she  who  brought  you  the  flowers.  She  has  never  ceased  to 
love  you — and — and  perhaps  you  will  sec  her  again  ;  but — how 
can  I  look  on  her  face!  And  you  —  how  can  you  ever  forgive 
me — if — if  all  this  is  true  ? — and  it  looks  so  terribly  true  !" 

His  eyes  were  troubled  and  bewildered  by  her  wild  speech ;  but 
he  sunk  back  on  the  couch  with  a  sio;h  of  relief. 


398  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Violet  is  alive,  then,"  he  said.     That  was  enough. 

"  But  listen,  James,"  she  continued,  in  a  quick,  eager  way,  some- 
times interrupted  by  a  sob ;  "  and  then  you  will  forgive  me  if 
you  can.  I  made  a  terrible  mistake ;  I  must  have  misled  you 
both ;  I  thought  she  cared  all  along  for  Mr.  Miller,  and  that  they 
had  only  a  lovers'  quarrel ;  and  now  I  am  sure  I  was  altogether 
and  terribly  wrong,  for  here  she  has  been  in  London  all  this  time, 
and  Mr.  Miller  himself  confesses  that  she  has  loved  you  all  through 
with  her  whole  heart,  and  has  never  cared  for  him  at  all.  And 
now  I  see  it  so  clearly — I  begged  you  not  to  speak  to  her,  to  give 
her  a  chance,  for  I  knew  she  was  proud  and  would  keep  to  her 
word  at  all  hazards ;  and  she  would  so  readily  misconstrue  your 
silence,  and  your  looking  pained  and  anxious." 

"  Sarah,"  said  her  brother,  raising  himself  on  the  couch,  and 
regarding  her,  "all  this  is  very  wild  talking.  You  accuse  your- 
self needlessly.  You  appear  to  think  that  all  the  relations  be- 
tween Violet  and  me  were  managed  by  you;  and  that  through 
some  mistake  you  managed  wrongly.  It  was  not  so.  In  such  a 
matter  I  could  not  have  trusted  the  opinion  or  report  of  any  one, 
although,  of  course,  you  were  Violet's  intimate  friend,  and  you 
knew  more  about  the  ways  and  natural  wishes  of  a  girl  than  I 
did.  Don't  blame  yourself  needlessly.  When  that  compact  be- 
tween her  and  me  was  broken — it  was  only  the  awakening  from 
a  dream,  the  vanishing  of  a  rainbow ;  we  did  it  of  our  own  free- 
will, and  after  all  the  explanation  that  was  necessary.  I  saw  her 
looking  miserable,  and  I  could  not  bear  that.  You  spoke  of  a 
lovers'  quarrel ;  of  her  agitation  over  that  letter  from  young  Mil- 
ler— well,  what  could  be  more  likely  ?" 

"  But  I  was  wrong — I  am  sure  I  was  terribly  wrong,"  his  sis- 
ter cried. 

"  What  matter  ?"  he  continued,  calmly.  "  I  did  not  go  by  your 
judgment  only ;  I  went  to  herself.  I  asked  her  if  she  was  har- 
assed or  troubled  by  our  engagement,  and  that  she  should  be 
free  if  she  Avished.  And  then  I  remember  the  bright  and  grate- 
ful look  with  which  she  confessed  it  was  all  a  mistake — she  held 
out  her  hand  to  me — it  was  the  first  time  for  days  I  had  seen  her 
look  happy.     That  was  enough." 

"And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  sadly  and  thoughtfully,  and 
almost  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  herself,  "  and  yet  if  that  glad- 
ness were  caused  by  something  else  ? — if  she  believed,  or  had  been 


REPENTANCE.  399 

taught  to  believe,  that  you  had  only  a  friendly  affection  for  her  ? 
— if  she  thought  she  was  relieving  you  from  an  obligation  that 
was  becoming  daily  more  painful — " 

She  rose,  as  if  she  would  throw  off  the  burden  of  this  think- 
ing ;  her  face  looked  haggard  and  tired. 

"Oh,  Violet!"  she  said,  "why  did  you  go  away  —  without  a 
word?" 

"  Where  has  she  gone  ?"  Mr.  Drummond  asked.  You  would 
have  thought  he  was  speaking  of  Amy,  who  had  gone  to  spend 
the  evening  with  a  neighbor  of  theirs. 

"  To  America.  She  fancies  no  one  knows  she  is  alive — no  one 
but  Mr.  Miller,  Avho  discovered  her  accidentally  about  a  month 
ago — and  she  made  him  promise  to  keep  her  secret.  Imagine 
the  poor  girl  going  away  out  to  that  strange  country  all  by  her- 
self, without  a  friend  in  the  world,  and  all  because  she  fancied 
she  was  somehow  making  you  miserable,  and  that  nothing  would 
cure  that  but  your  believing  she  was  dead.  There  is  a  great  deal 
that  is  strange  and  unintelligible  in  all  this ;  but  to  my  dying  day 
I  will  believe  that  I  have  had  more  to  do  with  it  than  I  can  dare 
to  think  of.  If  only  I  could  see  Violet — for  five  minutes — if  I 
could  ask  her  one  simple  question — but  I  know  the  answer  al- 
ready. That  girl  has  loved  you  as  few  girls  have  ever  loved  a 
man ;  that  I  am  sure  of,  now  when  it  is  too  late.  And  if  I  were 
to  see  her,  what  could  I  do  now  but  go  down  on  my  knees  before 
her  and  beg  for  her  forgiveness?  She  would  give  it  to  me,  I 
know.  There  never  was  any  thing  she  could  deny  her  friends. 
But  now  if  she  is  lost  to  us  forever — if  we  are  to  go  on  from  year 
to  year  thinking  of  her  as  a  stranger  and  a  wanderer  in  some  dis- 
tant part  of  the  world — I  think  that  will  be  worse  even  than  when 
we  thought  she  was  dead." 

"  I  will  find  her,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  absently. 

She  looked  at  the  wasted  frame  and  the  helpless  arms,  and  her 
eyes  grew  moist  again. 

"  I  will  find  her  when  I  get  well,"  he  continued,  speaking  slowly 
and  at  intervals.  "  I  have  never  had  any  thing  to  do  in  my  life  ; 
this  will  be  something.  I  shall  have  done  a  good  work  when  I 
recover  Violet,  and  take  her  back  to  her  friends  and  her  home. 
It  is  a  strange  thing  to  think  I  shall  see  her  again.  Many  a  time, 
in  walking  in  the  streets  or  along  a  road,  I  have  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance the  figure  of  a  tall  girl ;  and  I  have  wondered  what  I  should 


400  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

say  and  do  if  this  were  really  Violet  coming  along,  brought  back 
to  us  out  of  the  grave.  I  thought  of  that  many  a  time.  And 
now  I  shall  go  on  my  pilgrimage  with  the  certainty  of  really  see- 
ing her  some  day — of  taking  her  hand  and  hearing  her  speak — 
not  as  a  mere  ghostly  picture  in  a  dream,  but  the  real,  bright, 
madcap  Violet  of  old,  who  troubled  us  sorely,  and  whom  we  loved. 
And  we  shall  scold  her,  too,  for  these  wild  pranks ;  and  shall  we 
not  be  proud  of  her  when  we  bring  her  back — like  a  king's  daugh- 
ter— in  clothing  of  wrought  gold — with  gladness  and  rejoicing? 
But  there  will  be  no  wedding  in  any  king's  palace  or  elsewhere 
for  her — enough  of  mischief  came  out  of  thinking  of  that  in  the 
old  time.  We  shall  bring  her  back  only  to  the  fireside,  and  to 
the  old,  quiet  ways,  and  to  our  hearts.  It  is  nothing  to  cry 
about,  Sarah ;  it  is  a  thing  to  get  well  and  strong  for.  We  want 
courage,  hope,  and  strength.  But  my  hands  don't  look  very 
strong,  do  they  ?" 

He  held  them  out,  and  smiled.     She  could  not  see  them  for 
her  tears. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AT    LAST ! 

It  is  a  pale,  clear  morning  down  here  in  Berkshire.  A  faint 
blue  mist  hangs  about  the  black  and  distant  woods ;  but  closer  at 
hand,  in  the  garden  of  The  Laurels,  the  sunshine  is  bright  enough 
on  the  wintry-looking  evergreens,  on  the  ruddy  berries  left  on  the 
hawthorn-trees,  and  on  the  gleaming  scarlet  bunches  on  the  hol- 
lies. There  is  something  odd  about  the  appearance  of  the  front 
of  the  house :  is  it  that  the  blinds  of  all  the  windows  are  drawn 
down  ?  There  is  no  sign  of  life  about  the  place ;  and  an  intense 
stillness  broods  over  both  house  and  garden. 

But  by-and-by  the  figure  is  seen  of  a  young  girl  who  comes 
slowly  along  one  of  the  paths.  She  is  wandering  idly  about  these 
empty  grounds,  by  herself.  And  apparently  her  thoughts  are 
none  of  the  brightest,  for  there  is  a  sad  look  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
cheeks  have  not  the  healthful  brilliancy  of  a  young  girl's  com- 
plexion.    And  what  is  she  saying  to  herself? 

"  They  ought  not  to  ask  me  to  stay :  I  shall  become  a  curse  to 


at  last!  401 

them,  as  to  every  one  with  whom  I  have  been  associated.  I  have 
never  meant  any  harm  to  any  one  all  my  life ;  but  misfortune 
goes  hand-in-hand  with  me,  and  misery  is  the  only  gift  I  have  to 
offer  to  my  friends.  It  is  better  I  should  be  away  among  stran- 
gers. That  poor  young  man — the  few  seconds  in  which  he  was 
sensible — why  did  he  beg  me  to  stay  with  his  mother  ?  I  can  not 
comfort  her:  I  shall  only  bring  further  ill  to  her  and  to  her  house." 

A  servant  comes  out,  and  says  a  word  to  her;  she  turns  and 
goes  in-doors.  She  ascends  the  stairs  noiselessly  ;  and  as  she  goes 
by  one  room  in  the  corridor  she  seems  to  listen  ;  but  what  is  the 
use  of  listening  when  only  the  awful  silence  of  death  is  within  ? 
She  passes  onward  to  a  farther  room,  and  here  she  finds  a  middle- 
aged  woman,  with  silvery  white  hair,  sitting  mournfully  and  help- 
lessly, before  the  fire. 

"  My  child,  have  you  considered  ?  Come  here,"  the  woman  says 
in  a  trembling  voice. 

The  girl  goes  over  to  her,  and  puts  her  hand  in  the  outstretched 
hand. 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  about  it,"  is  the  reply,  uttered  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me — I  would  do  any  thing 
for  you — but  I  can  not  stay  in  England." 

"  You  will  not  take  pity  on  the  empty  house?"  says  the  mother, 
beginning  to  cry  gently.  "  It  was  his  last  wish.  You  would  be 
a  daughter  to  us." 

"  I  can  not — I  can  not,"  says  the  girl,  almost  wildly.  "  You 
don't  know  how — how  I  bring  misfortune  to  my  friends.  I  want 
to  be  away — away  from  England — among  strangers.  I  shall  do 
no  more  mischief  then  to  those  I  love.  And  as  for  you,  Mrs. 
Dowse,  you  know  I  can  not  ever  be  to  you  what  you  have  lost ; 
and  I  should  only  remind  you  constantly  of  your  great  trouble." 

"Am  I  likely  to  forget  that  ever  ?"  she  says. 

"  But  in  the  mean  time  I  will  stay  with  you  for  a  week  or  two. 
Then  you  must  leave  this  house,  and  go  away  for  a  time :  Mr. 
Dowse  has  already  spoken  to  me  about  that.  Will  you  come  out 
into  the  garden  now  ?     The  fresh  air  will  do  you  good." 

She  only  shakes  her  head.  She  has  some  writings  in  her  lap, 
over  which  she  has  been  poring,  and  crying.  These  are  some 
of  poor  Teddie's  poetical  flights ;  and  his  mother  finds  in  them 
the  expression  of  the  most  tender  and  beautiful  spirit  that  ever 
breathed  upon  the  earth. 


402  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

She  went  noiselessly  down  the  stair  again,  intending  to  go  out 
into  the  garden ;  but  as  she  passed  along  the  hall  she  found  the 
open  door-way  suddenly  darkened  by  the  tall  figure  of  a  man. 
She  looked  up  with  a  vague  alarm;  then  she  uttered  a  slight  cry, 
and  would  have  retreated.  But  the  next  moment  the  old  instinct 
prevailed :  she  went  quickly  forward,  her  face  upturned,  and  she 
found  his  arras  close  round  her. 

"Violet,  my  girl!"  said  this  tall  man,  struggling  to  retain  his 
composure,  though  his  voice  was  shaken.  "  You  have  come  back 
to  us,  after  all !     What  has  been  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?" 

Her  heart  was  beating  so  wildly  that  she  could  not  answer. 
There  was  a  strange  joy  overflooding  her  soul.  All  the  gloomy 
fancies — the  desperate  desire  to  forsake  her  friends  and  become 
a  wanderer — seemed  to  have  disappeared  the  moment  she  met  her 
father's  eyes  and  found  his  arms  inclosing  her.  The  world  had 
come  back  to  her,  when  she  had  been  persuading  herself  she  was 
scarcely  of  it.  There  was  not  a  thought  now  of  her  being  a  mis- 
ery-bringer. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  let  me  see  you.  Let  me  see  what  you  are 
like,  after  all  this  terrible  business." 

He  disengaged  her  from  him,  and  held  her  at  a  short  distance  : 
the  light,  entering  under  the  narrow  veranda,  fell  full  upon  her 
face,  and  showed  how  sadly  worn  and  pale  it  was. 

"  You  have  not  been  happy,  Violet.  Why  did  you  go  away  ? 
Why  did  you  want  to  leave  us  ?" 

Then  he  suddenly  recollected  himself.  He  had  independently 
arrived  at  the  same  decision  as  Mr.  Drummond.  If  this  way- 
ward girl  were  ever  to  be  brought  back  to  them,  they  should  ask 
her  no  questions.  She  should  return  on  her  own  terms :  it  was 
enough  that  they  were  to  get  her  back  at  all. 

"  No,  Violet,"  said  he,  "  I  won't  ask  you  any  questions." 

"  Let  us  go  outside,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Do  you  know 
he  is  dead  ?" 

"  Yes.     The  foreman  at  the  works  told  me  this  morning." 

They  passed  out  into  the  garden  :  she  had,  as  of  old,  taken  his 
arm,  but  her  hand  trembled  much,  and  she  was  not  so  firm  and 
upright  in  her  walk  as  usual. 

"Papa,  do  they  all  know?"  she  asked,  her  face  bent  on  the 
ground. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Violet ;  how  could  you — but  no,  no  !     What 


at  last!  403 

you  did  was  doubtless  quite  right.  You  had  your  reasons.  You 
were  quite  right." 

He  stammered,  and  looked  embarrassed.  He  was  so  glad  to 
see  his  daughter  again  that  he  would  forgive  every  thing,  and 
ask  no  questions,  as  he  had  promised.  Nevertheless,  the  inexpli- 
cable character  of  her  conduct  haunted  him,  and  continually  pro- 
voked him  into  "  whys  "  and  "  hows." 

"  They  all  know  ?     Mrs.  Warrener,  too  ?"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"And  I  have  made  them  suffer,  and  you  a  great  deal;  and 
now  it  has  all  come  to  nothing,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  There  is  no 
use  in  my  going  away  now." 

"  In  your  going  away  !"  he  cried,  in  dismay.  "  Of  course  you 
are  not  going  away,  Violet.  Now  we  have  caught  you,  we  sha'n't 
let  you  slip  from  us  again.  You  are  going  back  with  us,  Violet. 
And  what  a  chance  it  was !  We  were  told  vou  had  left  on  Mon- 
day." 

"  I  was  to  have  done  so,"  she  answered,  simply,  "  but  Mr. 
Dowse  persuaded  me  to  stay.  His  wife  was  in  such  a  terrible 
way  when  Mr.  Edward  died,  we  thought  she  wouldn't  get  over  it." 

Sir  Acton  began  to  feel  a  great  pity  for  these  people,  whom  he 
had  never  seen.  He  was  not  a  very  sympathetic  man,  and,  in 
any  case,  he  would  have  had  little  in  common  with  Mr.  Edward 
Dowse ;  but  he  could  see  very  plainly  that,  but  for  the  death  of 
that  young  man,  he,  Sir  Acton,  would  almost  certainly  have  nev- 
er seen  his  daughter  again  in  this  world ;  and  now  his  gratitude 
took  the  form  of  compassion  for  the  survivors. 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  sorry  for  these  poor  people,"  said  he,  "  very 
sorry.  You  must  do  what  you  can  for  them,  Violet.  But,  in 
the  first  place,  you  know  you  must  come  at  once  and  pay  us  a 
short  visit — even  if  you  run  back  here  afterward — just  to  show 
the  girls  you  are  alive,  and  then  they  will  feel  safe  in  putting  off 
their  mourning." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  papa  I"  she  cried,  shrinking  back  so  that  she  even 
withdrew  her  hand  from  his  arm  ;  "I  can  never  go  back  like  that. 
I  have  done  too  much  harm.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  meet  any 
one  I  used  to  know  !" 

"They  will  forget  all  that!"  said  he,  vehemently;  "they  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you,  Violet.  But  what  did  you  mean  by  run- 
ning away  in  that  fashion,  without  telling  us  first  what  was  the 


404  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

matter,  eh?  Why  didn't  you  come  to  me?  Well,  never  mind 
that;  I  sha'n't  ask  any  questions.  But — but  if  you  have  any  ex- 
planations or  questions — " 

He  had  never  departed  from  this  old  conviction  that  women 
had  a  secret  code  of  feelings,  and  sentiments,  and  opinions  among 
themselves,  which  no  man  could  hope  to  understand.  He  knew 
there  was  a  mystery  about  this  affair  which  it  was  no  use  his  try- 
ing to  solve. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  when  the  fore- 
man told  me  this  morning  you  were  still  down  here,  I — I  thought 
you  might  perhaps  like  to  see  one  of  your  old  friends.  I  tele- 
graphed to  Mrs.  Warrener — " 

The  girl  began  to  look  alarmed. 

"  — In  fact,  she  came  down  with  me.  Would  you  like  to  see 
her?" 

"  No,"  the  girl  was  beginning  to  say,  when  he  interrupted  her. 

"  In  fact,  Violet,  she  is  here.  She  is  down  in  the  road.  She 
is  most  anxious  to  see  you;  for  it  appears  she  had  something  to 
do  with  your  going  away,  and  she  wishes  to  make  explanations 
to  you ;  she  seems  very  sorry." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  girl,  nerving  herself,  "  I  will  see  her. 
Shall  we  walk  down  to  the  gate,  papa  ?" 

But  this  did  not  suit  his  purpose  at  all.  He  wanted  to  leave 
the  two  women  together.  Of  coarse  they  had  their  secrets,  their 
sentiments,  their  occult  reasons ;  how  could  he  aid  in  this  eso- 
teric interview?  So  he  bid  Violet  wait  in  the  garden,  where 
there  were  paths  among  the  laurels  and  other  evergreens  fitted  for 
quiet  talking,  while  he  went  down  to  the  road  to  fetch  the  anxious 
and  trembling-hearted  little  woman,  who  was  walking  to  and  fro 
there. 

When  Mrs.  Warrener  came  up  into  this  garden,  she  came  alone, 
and  for  a  time  she  did  not  see  Violet.  But  suddenly  the  girl  ap- 
peared, and  went  forward  to  her,  calmly  and  sadly,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down.  Was  this  the  bright  and  daring  Violet  of  old?  A 
throb  of  pain  went  through  the  heart  of  her  visitor. 

"  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  timidly,  and  she  was  trembling 
not  a  little,  "  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  did  not  wish  to  see  me. 
I  have  done  you  a  great  injury." 

But  this  strange  reserve  between  these  two  could  not  continue. 
Were  they  both  eager  for  forgiveness,  that  they  stood  apart,  each 


AT    LAST !  405 

waiting  for  the  other's  approach  to  the  old  kindness  ?  The  next 
minute  Mrs.  Warrener  had  caught  the  girl  in  her  arms,  and  had 
hidden  her  face  in  her  bosom,  while  she  was  sobbing  out  there,  in 
passionate  accents,  the  long  story  of  her  terrible  mistake  and  all 
its  consequences,  with  her  present  professions  of  penitence,  and 
prayers  for  forgiveness.  Much  of  all  this  startled  Violet,  and 
even  frightened  her.  Was  it  true,  then,  that  when  they  first 
heard  of  her  being  in  London,  they  imagined  she  had  run  away 
to  rejoin  George  Miller?  No;  she  knew  one  at  least  who  had 
not  believed  that  of  her. 

"  And  when  you  see  him,  Violet,"  her  friend  was  saying,  in 
rather  a  wild  way,  "  when  you  come  to  see  him,  and  see  what  a 
wreck  has  been  made,  will  you  be  able  to  forgive  me  then  ?  That 
is  all  my  doing,  too.  He  was  a  changed  man  from  the  moment 
Ave  believed  you  were  drowned;  he  thought  of  nothing  else  but 
that :  it  was  those  long  midnight  walks  in  the  rain  and  cold  that 
brought  on  the  fever." 

"  He  has  suffered  all  that  for  me !"  the  girl  murmured,  almost 
to  herself.     She  had  no  thought  of  what  she,  also,  had  borne. 

"But  now — but  now,  Violet,"  said  her  friend,  looking  up  to 
her  face  with  tender  and  beseeching  eyes,  "  it  will  be  all  different 
now,  and  there  will  be  no  more  danger  of  these  terrible  misunder- 
standings. I  will  tell  him  why  you  looked  glad  when  you  broke 
off  the  engagement ;  I  will  tell  him  why  you  went  away  from  us ; 
he  will  understand  how  well  one  woman  has  loved  him,  if  another 
lias  nearly  wrecked  his  life.  Oh, Violet,  I  could  have  believed  any 
thing  of  your  unselfishness  but  this.  Well,  a  man  ought  to  be 
content  with  life  who  has  been  shown  such  devotion." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  the  girl,  calmly,  "  I 
think  perhaps  I  had  better  make  these  explanations  myself.  I 
will  write  to  him." 

The  other  remained  silent,  the  tears  running  down  her  face. 
She  felt  the  rebuke,  although  Violet  had  meant  no  rebuke.  All 
that  the  girl  had  intended  to  convey  was  that  henceforth  it  might 
be  better  if  she  spoke  direct  to  this  man,  and  alone,  about  such 
matters  as  concerned  their  two  selves. 

"  Then  you  will  write  to  him  soon  ?"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  pite- 
ously,  "  and  you  will  come  and  see  us  soon,  Violet !  I  am  so 
anxious  to  have  all  this  misery  undone  and  atoned  for,  as  far  as 
that  is  possible  now  :  you  will  come  and  help  us  to  make  it  up  to 


40G  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

him.  As  for  yourself,  I  can  only  hope  you  will  forgive  me  in 
time.  And,  if  it  is  not  too  late,  Violet,  I  shall  see  you  both  get 
back  to  your  old  selves,  and  we  may  go  to  the  Highlands  again 
this  year." 

The  girl  shuddered. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  that  would  be  too  terrible !" 

"  Then,  to  the  South  ?"  said  her  friend,  with  some  desperate  ef- 
fort at  cheerfulness.  "  Perhaps  the  South  would  be  better  for 
him.  And  then,  as  soon  as  he  is  quite  well,  you  shall  have  no 
more  of  my  intrusion.  Mr.  Miller  said  something  the  other  day 
about  sisters  and  mothers,  and  their  jealousy ;  you  shall  not  have 
to  fear  my  jealousy.  I  have  enjoyed  my  brother's  society  for  a 
great  many  years  ;  it  is  time  I  gave  up  my  place  to  another." 

"  But  not  to  me,  then,"  said  the  girl,  quickly,  and  yet  with  some- 
thing of  sadness  in  her  tone.  "  It  is  no  use  our  talking  of  any 
thing  like  that.  When  your  brother  gets  well,  and  goes  away,  it 
is  you  who  must  go  with  him." 

"  But  you  are  coming  to  see  him,  Violet  ?"  the  pale  little  wom- 
an cried,  in  dismay.  "  You  are  coming  to  live  with  us  again  ? 
You  will  give  us  the  chance  of  trying  to  atone  for  what  is  past  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will  come  and  see  him,"  said  Violet,  calmly,  "in  a  day 
or  two.  Then  I  must  return  here.  Afterward — well,  that  has  to 
be  settled  yet." 

Mrs.  Warrener  could  not  understand  why  Violet  spoke  thus. 
Was  it  not  a  simple  matter,  to  restore  the  old  state  of  things  so 
soon  as  Mr.  Drummond  got  well?  The  girl  spoke  as  if  she  were 
about  to  fulfill  some  doom  of  perpetual  banishment  from  all  she 
had  ever  known  and  loved. 

So  it  was  arranged  before  Sir  Acton  and  Mrs.  "Warrener  left, 
and  after  a  brief  word  with  Mr.  Dowse,  who  was  in-doors,  that 
Violet  should  go  up  to  her  father's  house  on  the  following  Satur- 
day, and  go  over  to  visit  her  friends  in  the  South  in  the  evening. 
In  the  mean  time,  she  promised  Mrs.  Warrener  she  would  write  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Drummond. 

It  was  a  long  letter,  of  which  no  word  shall  be  spoken  here. 
To  the  invalid,  lying  there  on  his  couch,  haunted  by  dreams  of 
the  past  and  all  that  might  have  been,  it  was  a  sacred  revelation 
which  no  eye  but  his  ever  read.  It  was  the  story,  told  in  tender 
phrases  enough,  but  loyally  honest  and  outspoken  as  the  soul  of 
her  who  penned  it,  of  the  simple,  sincere,  and  enduring  love  that 


at  last!  407 

filled  a  woman's  heart;  of  a  love  that  was  likely  to  remain  there 
until  the  pulses  of  the  heart  itself  were  stilled  by  the  gentle  hand 
of  death. 

And  then  that  night.  She  was  to  be  over  at  eight  o'clock ;  but 
he  had  a  secret  fancy  she  might  come  before  the  time ;  and  as  he 
sat  up  on  the  couch,  his  back  propped  by  a  cushion,  he  pretended 
to  be  talking  cheerfully  to  his  sister  and  niece ;  but  he  was  in  re- 
ality listening  for  the  sound  of  wheels  outside.  Many  a  time  he 
had  listened  in  like  manner,  even  when  he  knew  that  his  fancies 
were  all  in  vain  ;  and  many  a  time,  though  he  mourned  for  her  as 
dead,  he  had  imagined  the  door  to  open,  and  he  had  seen  a  vision 
of  the  fair  young  girl  entering,  with  her  shy  smile,  her  tender  eyes, 
her  gracious  presence.  Was  it  now  a  real  flesh-and-blood  Violet 
that  was  coming  ?  no  phantom  from  the  shadowy  halls  of  Death, 
but  Violet  herself,  the  frank,  generous,  courageous  girl  who  had 
won  the  hearts  of  all  the  sailors  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot  ? 

"  I  wish,"  said  he,  seriously,  to  his  sister,  "  I  wish  there  were 
none  of  that  confounded  green  in  this  dressing-gown.  She  al- 
ways hated  green  in  any  costume." 

"  She  won't  think  about  your  costume,  I  imagine,"  his  sister 
said.  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  a  white  tie,  since  a  young  lady  is 
coming  to  sup  with  you  ?" 

"  A  white  tie  ?  No,"  he  said,  absently  (he  was  really  counting 
the  minutes  as  they  passed,  and  listening  intently),  "  I  do  not  know 
what  impressions  are  produced  by  a  white  tie ;  but  they  are  real 
and  mysterious.  If  you  meet  a  waiter  in  the  street,  you  can  not 
tell  who  he  is  ;  but  his  face  haunts  you.  You  know  there  is  some- 
thing wanting  to  complete  the  portrait — you  could  identify  him 
if  that  were  present.  A  butler  out  of  livery  in  the  street  is  a  very 
strange-looking  person — the  dignity  of  his  manner  is  irreconcil- 
able with  a  billycock  hat." 

He  looked  again  at  his  watch,  hanging  upon  the  wall.  It  was 
a  trifle  past  the  half-hour. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  Violet  was  over  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"  About  six  months  now,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  A  great  deal  has  happened  in  that  half-year.  It  seems  longer 
than  half  a  year — there  is  so  much  distance  in  it,  the  sense  of  dis- 
tance you  get  from  death.  Violet  has  been  quite  close  by  all  this 
time;  and  yet  she  seems  to  be  coming  back  to  us  from  a  far 
country — farther  away  than  any  on  the  other  side  of  the  sea — 


408  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

and  one  could  almost  imagine  she  will  look  strange  and  unfa- 
miliar— " 

He  stopped,  for  they  could  hear  outside  the  sound  of  wheels 
approaching.  Presently  that  sound  ceased.  Amy  Warrener 
jumped  up  and  flew  out  of  the  room ;  her  mother  followed  her. 
James  Drummond  was  left  alone. 

And  now  he  looked  at  the  door ;  for  he  knew  who  would  open 
it  next.  He  was  weak  and  ill ;  perhaps  that  was  why  the  wasted 
frame  trembled  so.  Then  the  door  was  gently  opened ;  and  Vio- 
let, tall,  pale,  her  eyes  streaming  Avith  tears,  appeared.  For  an  in- 
stant she  stood  motionless,  trying  to  collect  herself  before  ap- 
proaching the  invalid ;  but  the  first  glimpse  she  got  of  the  shat- 
tered wreck  lying  before  her  caused  her  to  utter  a  quick,  sharp 
cry  of  agony,  and  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  him,  and 
wound  her  arms  round  him  for  the  first  time,  as  she  cried,  in  the 
bitterness  of  her  heart, 

"  My  darling,  my  darling  !  it  is  not  too  late  ?" 

"  No,  not  too  late,"  he  answered,  solemnly ;  "  whether  it  be  in 
this  world,  or  in  the  greater  world  that  lies  ahead.  Violet,  give 
me  your  hand." 

She  raised  herself  for  a  moment,  and  their  eyes  were  fixed  on 
each  other — his  clear,  and  calm,  and  earnest ;  hers  troubled,  and 
dark,  and  full  of  an  agonized  tenderness.  He  held  out  his  right 
hand  to  her,  and  she  placed  her  right  hand  in  his ;  and  there  was 
no  need  of  any  further  words  between  these  two,  then  or  there- 
after, during  the  time  that  was  left  to  them  to  be  together. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

JOY  AND   FEAR. 

Was  this  man  mad,  that  he,  an  invalid,  propped  up  in  his  chair, 
and  scarcely  able  to  move  a  wine-glass  out  of  his  way,  should  play 
pranks  with  the  whole  created  order  of  things,  tossing  about  solar 
systems  as  if  they  were  no  more  than  juggler's  balls,  and  making 
universal  systems  of  philosophy  jump  through  hoops  as  if  he  were 
a  lion-tamer  in  a  den  ?  These  poor  women  did  not  know  where 
to  catch  him.     Violet  used  to  say  that  he  was  like  a  prism,  tak- 


JOY    AND    FEAR.  409 

ing  the  ordinary  daylight  of  life  and  splitting  it  up  into  a  thou- 
sand gay  and  glancing  colors.  That  was  all  very  well  as  a  spec- 
tacular exhibition ;  but  how  when  he  was  apparently  instructing 
them  in  some  serious  matter  ?  Was  it  fair  to  these  tender  creat- 
ures who  had  so  lovingly  nursed  him,  that  he  should  assume  the 
airs  of  a  teacher,  and  gravely  lead  out  his  trusting  disciples  into 
the  desert  places  of  the  earth,  when  his  only  object  was  to  get 
them  into  a  bog  and  then  suddenly  reveal  himself  as  a  will-o'-the- 
wisp,  laughing  at  them  with  a  fiendish  joy  ? 

What,  for  example,  was  all  this  nonsense  about  the  land  ques- 
tion— about  the  impossibility  of  settling  it  in  England  so  long  as 
the  superstitious  regard  for  land  existed  in  the  English  mind  ? 
They  were  quite  ready  to  believe  him.  They  deprecated  that 
superstition  most  sincerely.  They  could  not  understand  why  a 
moneyed  Englishman's  first  impulse  was  to  go  and  buy  land ; 
they  could  give  no  reason  for  the  delusion  existing  in  the  bosom 
of  every  Englishman  that  he,  if  no  one  else,  could  make  money 
out  of  the  occupation  of  a  farm  that  had  ruined  a  dozen  men  in 
succession.  All  this  was  very  well ;  but  what  were  they  to  make 
of  his  suddenly  turning  round  and  defending  that  superstition  as 
the  most  beautiful  sentiment  in  human  nature?  It  was,  accord- 
ing to  him,  the  sublimest  manifestation  of  filial  love — the  instinct 
of  affection  for  the  great  mother  of  us  all.  And  then  the  flowers 
became  our  small  sisters  and  brothers ;  and  the  dumb  look  of  ap- 
peal in  a  horse's  eye,  and  the  singing  of  the  thrush  at  the  break 
of  day,  these  were  but  portions  of  the  inarticulate  language  now 
no  longer  known  to  us.  What  was  any  human  being  to  make 
of  this  rambling  nonsense? 

It  all  came  of  the  dress-coat,  and  of  his  childish  vanity  in  his 
white  wristbands.  It  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  he  had  cer- 
emoniously dressed  for  dinner ;  and  Violet  had  come  over ;  and 
he  was  as  proud  of  his  high  and  stiff  collar  and  of  his  white  neck- 
tie as  if  they  had  been  the  ribbon  and  star  of  a  royal  order.  And 
then  they  were  all  going  off  the  next  morning — Miss  North  in- 
cluded— to  a  strange  little  place  on  the  southern  side  of  the  Isle 
of  Wight;  and  he  had  gone  "  clean  daft "  with  the  delight  of  ex- 
pectation. There  was  nothing  sacred  from  his  mischievous  fancy. 
He  would  have  made  fun  of  a  bishop.  Tn  fact  he  did  ;  for,  hap- 
pening to  talk  of  inarticulate  language,  he  described  having  seen, 
"  the  other  day,"  in  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  a  bishop  who  was 

18 


410  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

looking  at  some  china  in  a  shop-window ;  and  he  went  on  to  de- 
clare how  a  young  person  driving  a  perambulator,  and  too  ear- 
nestly occupied  with  a  sentry  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  incon- 
tinently drove  that  perambulator  right  on  to  the  carefully  swathed 
toes  of  the  bishop ;  and  then  he  devoted  himself  to  analyzing  the 
awful  language  which  he  saiv  on  the  afflicted  man's  face. 

"  But,  uncle,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  with  the  delightful  fresh- 
ness of  fifteen,  "  how  could  you  see  any  body  in  Buckingham 
Palace  Road  the  other  day,  when  you  haven't  been  out  of  the 
house  for  months  I" 

"  How  ?"  said  he,  not  a  whit  abashed.  "  How  could  I  see  him  ? 
I  don't  know,  but  I  tell  you  I  did  see  him.  With  my  eyes,  of 
course." 

He  lost  his  temper,  however,  after  all. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  was  saying,  "  I  bid  good-bye  to  my  doctor. 
I  bear  him  no  malice:  may  he  long  be  spared  from  having  to 
meet  in  the  next  world  the  people  he  sent  there  before  him ! 
But  look  here,  Violet — to-morrow  evening  we  shall  be  free  ! — 
and  we  shall  celebrate  our  freedom,  and  our  first  glimpse  of  a 
sea-shore,  in  Scotch  whisky — in  hot  Scotch  whisky — in  Scotch 
whisky  with  the  boilingest  of  boiling  water,  just  caught  at  the 
proper  point  of  cooling.  You  don't  know  that  point ;  I  will 
teach  you:  it  is  perfection.  Don't  you  know  that  we  have  just 
caught  the  cooling  point  of  the  earth — just  that  point  in  its  tran- 
sition from  being  a  molten  mass  to  its  becoming  a  chilled  and 
played-out  stone  that  admits  of  our  living — " 

"  But,  uncle,"  said  Amy, "  I  thought  the  earth  used  to  be  far 
colder  than  it  is  now.  Remember  the  glacial  period,"  added  this 
profound  student  of  physics. 

This  was  too  much. 

"Dear,  dear  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "Am  I  to  be  brought  up  at 
every  second  by  a  pert  school -girl  when  I  am  expounding  the 
mysteries  of  life  ?  AVhat  have  your  twopenny-halfpenny  science- 
primers  to  do  with  the  grand  secret  of  toddy  ?  I  tell  you  we 
must  catch  it  at  the  cooling  point  ;  and  then,  Violet — for  you 
are  a  respectful  and  attentive  student — if  the  evening  is  fine,  and 
the  air  warm,  and  the  Avindows  open  and  looking  out  to  the  south 
— do  you  think  the  doctor  could  object  to  that  one  first,  faint 
trial  of  a  cigarette,  just  to  make  us  think  we  are  up  again  in  the 
August  nights — off  Isle  Ornsay — with  Alec  up  at  the  bow  sing- 


JOY    AND    FEAR.  411 

ing  that  hideous  and  melancholy  song  of  his,  and  the  Sea-Pyot 
slowly  creeping  along  by  the  black  islands  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  at  all;  but  for  a  brief  moment  her  lip 
trembled.  Amidst  all  this  merriment  she  had  sat  with  a  troubled 
face,  and  with  a  sore  and  heavy  heart.  She  had  seen  in  it  but  a 
pathetic  bravado.  lie  would  drink  Scotch  whisky  —  he  would 
once  more  light  a  cigarette  —  merely  to  assure  her  that  he  was 
getting  thoroughly  well  again ;  his  laughter,  his  jokes,  his  wild 
sallies  were  all  meant,  and  she  knew  it,  to  give  her  strength  of 
heart  and  cheerfulness.  She  sat  and  listened,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down.  When  she  heard  him  talk  lightly  and  playfully  of  all 
that  he  meant  to  do,  her  heart  throbbed,  and  she  dared  not  lift 
her  eyes  to  his  face,  lest  they  should  suddenly  reveal  to  him  that 
awful  conflict  within  of  wild  and  piteous  and  agonizing  doubt. 

Then  that  reference  to  their  wanderings  in  the  Northern  seas 
— he  did  not  know  how  she  trembled  as  he  spoke.  She  could 
never  even  think  of  that  strange  time  she  had  spent  up  there, 
and  of  the  terrible  things  that  had  come  of  it,  without  a  shudder. 
If  she  could  have  cut  it  out  of  her  life  and  memory  altogether, 
that  would  have  been  well ;  but  how  could  she  forget  the  agony 
of  that  awful  farewell — the  sense  of  utter  loneliness  with  which 
she  saw  the  shores  recede  —  the  conviction  then  borne  in  upon 
her,  and  never  wholly  eradicated  from  her  mind,  that  some  mys- 
terious doom  had  overtaken  her,  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 
The  influence  of  that  time,  and  of  the  time  that  succeeded  it, 
still  dwelt  upon  her,  and  overshadowed  her  with  its  gloom.  She 
had  almost  lost  the  instinct  of  hope.  She  never  doubted,  when 
they  carried  young  Dowse  into  that  silent  room,  but  that  he 
would  die ;  was  it  not  her  province  to  bring  misery  to  all  who 
were  associated  with  her?  And  she  had  got  so  reconciled  to 
this  notion  that  she  did  not  argue  the  matter  with  herself;  she 
had,  for  example,  no  sense  of  bitterness  in  contrasting  this  appar- 
ent "  destiny  "  of  hers  with  the  most  deeply  rooted  feeling  in  her 
heart — namely,  a  perfectly  honest  readiness  to  give  up  her  own 
life  if  only  that  could  secure  the  happiness  of  those  she  loved. 
She  did  not  even  feel  injured  because  this  was  impossible. 
Things  were  so;  and  she  accepted  them. 

But  sometimes,  in  the  darkness  of  her  room,  in  the  silence  of 
the  night-time,  when  her  heart  seemed  to  be  literally  breaking 
with  its  conflict  of  anxious  love  and  returning  despair,  some  wild 


412  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

notion  of  propitiation — doubtless  derived  from  ancient  legends — 
would  flash  across  her  mind ;  and  she  would  cry  in  her  agony, 
"  If  one  must  be  taken,  let  it  be  me  !  The  world  cares  for  him  : 
what  am  I?"  If  she  could  only  go  out  into  the  open  place  of 
the  city ;  and  bare  her  bosom  to  the  knife  of  the  priest;  and  call 
on  the  people  to  see  how  she  had  saved  the  life  of  her  beloved — 
surely  that  would  be  to  die  happy.  What  she  had  done,  now 
that  she  came  to  look  back  over  it,  seemed  but  too  poor  an  ex- 
pression of  her  great  love  and  admiration.  What  mattered  it 
that  a  girl  should  give  up  her  friends  and  her  home  ?  Her  life — 
her  very  life — that  was  what  she  desired,  when  these  wild  fancies 
possessed  her,  to  surrender  freely,  if  only  she  could  know  that 
she  was  rescuing  him  from  the  awful  portals  that  her  despairing 
dread  saw  open  before  him,  and  was  giving  him  back — as  she 
bid  him  a  last  farewell  —  to  health,  and  joy,  and  the  comfort  of 
many  friends. 

With  other  wrestlings  in  spirit,  far  more  eager  and  real  than 
these  mere  fancies  derived  from  myths,  it  is  not  within  the  prov- 
ince of  the  present  writer  to  deal ;  they  are  not  for  the  house- 
tops or  the  market-places.  But  it  may  be  said  that  in  all  direc- 
tions the  gloomy  influences  of  that  past  time  pursued  her ;  wher- 
ever she  wTent  she  was  haunted  by  a  morbid  fear  that  all  her  reso- 
lute will  could  not  shake  off.  Where,  for  example,  could  she  go 
for  sweeter  consolation,  for  more  cheering  solace,  than  to  the 
simple  and  re-assuring  services  of  the  church? — but  before  she 
entered,  eager  to  hear  words  of  hope  and  strengthening,  there 
was  the  grave-yard  to  pass  through,  with  the  misery  of  genera- 
tions recorded  on  its  melancholy  stones. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

"O  GENTLE  WIND  THAT  BLOWETH  SOUTH  !" 

But  if  this  girl,  partly  through  her  great  and  yearning  love, 
and  partly  through  the  overshadowing  of  her  past  sufferings,  was 
haunted  by  a  mysterious  dread,  that  was  not  the  prevailing  feel- 
ing within  this  small  household  which  was  now  pulling  itself 
together  for  a  flight  to  the  South.     Even  she  caught  something 


"O  GENTLE  WIND  THAT  BLOWETH  SOUTH  !"       413 

of  the  brisk  and  cheerful  spirit  awakened  by  all  the  bustle  of 
departure ;  aud  when  her  father,  who  had  come  to  London 
Bridge  Station  to  see  the  whole  of  thern  off,  noticed  the  business- 
like fashion  in  which  she  ordered  every  body  about,  so  that  the 
invalid  should  have  his  smallest  comforts  attended  to,  he  could 
not  help  saying,  with  a  laugh, 

"  Well,  Violet,  this  is  better  than  starting  for  America  all  by 
yourself,  isn't  it  ?  But  I  don't  think  you  would  have  been  much 
put  out  by  that,  either." 

A  smart  young  man  came  up,  and  was  for  entering  the  carriage. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  respectfully  but  firmly.  "  This 
carriage  is  reserved." 

The  young  man  looked  at  both  windows. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  is,"  he  retorted,  coolly. 

He  took  hold  of  the  handle  of  the  door,  when  she  immediately 
rose  and  stood  before  him,  an  awful  politeness  and  decorum  on 
her  face,  but  the  fire  of  Brunehild,  the  warrior -maiden,  in  her 
eyes. 

"  You  will  please  call  the  guard  before  coming  in  here.  This 
carriage  is  reserved." 

At  this  moment  her  father  came  forward,  not  a  little  inclined 
to  laugh. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  the  carriage  is  really  reserved. 
There  was  a  written  paper  put  up ;  it  has  fallen  down,  I  suppose. 
There  it  is." 

So  the  smart  young  man  went  away ;  but  was  it  fair,  after  this 
notable  victory,  that  they  should  all  begin  to  make  fun  of  her 
fierce  and  majestic  bearing,  and  that  the  very  person  for  whose 
sake  she  had  confronted  the  enemy  should  begin  to  make  ridicu- 
lous rhymes  about  her,  such  as  these : 

"  Then  out  spake  Violet  Northimus, 
Of  Euston  Square  was  she — 
'  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 
And  guard  the  door  with  thee !' " 

Violet  Northimus  did  not  reply.  She  wore  the  modesty  of  a  vic- 
tor. She  was  ready  at  any  moment  to  meet  six  hundred  such  as 
he ;  and  she  was  not  to  be  put  out,  after  the  discomfiture  of  her 
enemy,  by  a  joke. 

Then  they  slowly  rolled  and  grated  out  of  the  station ;  and 
by-and-by  the  swinging  pace  increased,  and  they  were  out  in  the 


414  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

clearer  light  and  the  fresher  air,  with  a  windy  April  sky  showing 
flashes  of  blue  from  time  to  time.  They  went  down  through  a 
succession  of  thoroughly  English -looking  landscapes — quiet  val- 
leys, with  red-tiled  cottages  in  them,  bare  heights  green  with  the 
young  corn,  long  stretches  of  brown  and  almost  leafless  woods,  with 
the  rough  banks  outside  all  starred  with  the  pale,  clear  primrose. 
There  was  one  in  that  carriage  who  had  had  no  lack  of  flowers 
that  spring — flowers  brought  by  many  a  kindly  hand  to  brighten 
the  look  of  the  sick-room;  but  surely  it  was  something  more 
wonderful  to  see  the  flowers  themselves,  growing  here  in  this  act- 
ual and  outside  world,  which  had  been  to  him,  for  many  a  weary 
week,  but  a  dimly  imagined  dream-land.  There  were  primroses 
under  the  hedges ;  primroses  along  the  high  banks ;  primroses 
shining  pale  and  clear  within  the  leafless  woods,  among  the  russet 
leaves  of  the  previous  autumn.  And  then  the  life  and  motion 
of  the  sky:  the  south-westerly  winds;  the  black  and  lowering 
clouds  suddenly  followed  by  a  wild  and  dazzling  gleam  of  sun- 
light ;  the  grays  and  purples  flying  on,  and  leaving  behind  then? 
a  welcome  expanse  of  shining  April  blue. 

The  day  was  certainly  squally  enough,  and  might  turn  to  show 
ers ;  but  the  gusts  of  wind  that  blew  through  the  carriage  were 
singularly  sweet  and  mild ;  and  again  and  again,  Mr.  Drummond, 
who  had  been  raised  by  all  this  new  life  and  light  into  the  very 
highest  spirits,  declared  with  much  solemnity  that  he  could  al- 
ready detect  the  smell  of  the  salt  sea-air.  They  had  their  quar- 
rels, of  course.  It  pleased  a  certain  young  lady  to  treat  the  South 
coast  of  England  with  much  supercilious  contempt:  you  would 
have  imagined,  from  her  talk,  that  there  was  something  criminal 
in  one's  living  even  within  twenty  miles  of  the  bleak  downs,  the 
shabby  precipices,  and  the  muddy  sea,  which,  according  to  her, 
were  the  only  recognizable  features  of  our  southern  shores.  She 
would  not  admit,  indeed,  that  there  was  any  sea  at  all  there ;  there 
was  only  churned  chalk.  Was  it  fair  to  say,  even  under  the  ex- 
asperation of  continual  goading,  that  the  Isle  of  Wight  was  only 
a  trumpery  toy-shop ;  that  its  "  scenery  "  was  fitly  adorned  with 
bazaars  for  the  sale  of  sham  jewelry ;  that  its  amusements  were 
on  a  par  with  those  of  Rosherville  Gardens ;  that  its  rocks  were 
made  of  mud  and  its  sea  of  powdered  lime  ? 

"  By  heavens,"  exclaimed  her  antagonist,  "  I  will  stand  this  no 
longer!     I  will  call  upon  Neptune  to  raise  such  a  storm  in  the 


"O    GENTLE    WIND    THAT    BLOWETH    SOUTH  !"  415 

Solent  as  shall  convince  you  that  there  is  quite  enough  sea  sur- 
rounding that  pearl  of  islands,  that  paradise,  that  world's  wonder 
we  are  going  to  visit — " 

"  Yes,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  she,  with  sweet  sarcasm,  "  that  if 
you  stirred  the  Solent  with  a  tea-spoon,  you  would  frighten  the 
yachtsmen  there  out  of  their  wits — " 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  cried  another  young  lady,  "  you  know  you  were 
dreadfully  frightened  that  night  in  Tobermory  Bay,  when  the 
equinoctial  gales  caught  us,  and  the  men  were  trampiug  overhead 
all  night  long." 

"  I  should  be  more  frightened  down  here,"  was  the  retort, 
"  because,  if  we  were  driven  ashore,  I  should  be  choked  first  and 
drowned  afterward.  Fancy  going  out  of  the  world  with  a  taste 
of  chalk  in  your  mouth  !" 

Well,  at  this  moment  the  fierce  discussion  was  stopped  by  the 
arrival  of  the  train  at  Portsmouth ;  but  here  a  very  singular  inci- 
dent occurred.  Violet  was  the  first  to  step  out  on  to  the  plat- 
form. 

"  You  have  a  tramway-car  that  goes  down  to  the  pier,  have 
you  not  ?"  she  asked  of  the  guard. 

"Ain't  going  to-day,  miss,"  was  the  answer.  "Boats  can't 
come  in  to  Southsea ;  the  sea  is  very  high.  You'll  have  to  go  to 
Portsea,  miss — " 

Now  what  was  this  man's  amazement  on  seeing  this  young 
lady  suddenly  burst  out  laughing,  as  she  turned  and  looked  into 
the  carriage. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  ?"  she  cried.  "  The  Solent  is  raging ! 
They  can't  come  near  Southsea !  Don't  you  think,  Mrs.  Warren- 
er,  that  it  will  be  very  dangerous  to  go  to  Portsea  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  malicious 
smile,  "  if  a  certain  young  lady  I  know  were  to  be  ill  in  crossing, 
she  would  be  a  good  deal  more  civil  to  her  native  country  when 
she  reached  the  other  side." 

But  in  good  truth,  when  they  got  down  to  Portsea  there  was 
a  pretty  stiff  breeze  blowing;  and  the  walk  out  on  the  long  pier 
was  not  a  little  trying  to  an  invalid  who  had  but  lately  recovered 
the  use  of  his  limbs.  The  small  steamer,  too,  was  tossing  aboul 
considerably  at  her  moorings  ;  and  Violet  pretended  to  be  greatly 
alarmed  because  she  did  not  see  half  a  dozen  life-boats  on  board. 
Then  the  word  was  given,  the  cables  thrown  off,  and  presently 


41 G  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

the  tiny  steamer  was  running  out  to  the  windy  and  gray-green 
sea,  the  waves  of  which  not  unfrequently  sent  a  shower  of  spray 
across  her  decks.  The  small  party  of  voyagers  crouched  behind 
the  funnel,  and  were  well  out  of  the  water's  way. 

"  Look  there  now !"  cried  Mr.  Drummond,  suddenly  pointing 
to  a  large  bird  that  was  flying  by,  high  up  in  the  air,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  off,  "  do  you  see  that  ?  Do  you  know  what 
that  is  ?  That  is  a  wild  goose,  a  gray  lag,  that  has  been  driven  in 
by  bad  weather :  now  can  you  say  we  have  no  waves,  and  winds, 
and  sea  in  the  South  ?" 

Miss  Violet  was  not  daunted. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  goose,"  she  said,  coolly.  "  I  never  saw  but 
one  flying — you  remember  you  shot  it.  What  farm-yard  has  this 
one  left?" 

"  Oh,  for  shame,  Violet,"  Mrs.  Warrener  called  out,  "  to  rake 
up  old  stories !" 

She  was  punished  for  it.  The  insulted  sportsman  was  casting 
about  for  the  cruelest  retort  he  could  think  of,  when,  as  it  hap- 
pened, Miss  Violet  bethought  her  of  looking  round  the  corner  of 
the  boiler  to  see  whether  they  were  getting  near  Ryde ;  and  at 
the  same  moment  it  also  happened  that  a  heavy  wave,  striking 
the  bows  of  the  steamer,  sent  a  heap  of  water  whirling  down  be- 
tween the  paddle-box  and  the  funnel,  which  caught  the  young 
lady  on  the  face  with  a  crack  like  a  whip.  As  to  the  shout  of 
laughter  which  then  greeted  her,  that  small  party  of  folks  had 
heard  nothing  like  it  for  many  a  day.  There  was  salt-water  drip- 
ping from  her  hair,  salt-water  in  her  eyes,  salt-water  running 
down  her  tingling  and  laughing  cheeks ;  and  she  richly  deserved 
to  be  asked,  as  she  was  immediatly  asked,  whether  the  Solent  was 
compounded  of  water  and  marl,  or  water  and  chalk,  and  which 
brand  she  preferred  ? 

Was  it  the  balmy  southern  air  that  tempered  the  vehemence 
of  these  wanderers  as  they  made  their  way  across  the  island, 
and,  getting  into  a  carriage  at  Ventnor,  proceeded  to  drive  along 
the  TTndercliff  ?  There  was  a  great  quiet  prevailing  along  these 
southern  shores.  They  drove  by  underneath  the  tall  and  crum- 
bling precipices,  with  wood-pigeons  suddenly  shooting  out  from 
the  clefts,  and  jackdaws  wheeling  about  far  up  in  the  blue.  They 
passed  by  sheltered  woods,  bestarred  with  anemones  and  prim- 
roses, and  showing  here  and  there  the  purple  of  the,  as  yet,  half- 


"O    GENTLE    WIND    THAT    BLOWETH    SOUTH  !"  417 

opened  hyacinth ;  they  passed  by  lush  meadows,  all  ablaze  with 
the  golden  yellow  of  the  celandine  and  the  purple  of  the  ground- 
ivy ;  they  passed  by  the  broken,  picturesque  banks  where  the  ten- 
der blue  of  the  speedwell  was  visible  from  time  to  time,  with  the 
white  glimmer  of  the  starwort.  And  then  all  this  time  they  had 
on  their  left  a  gleaming  and  wind-driven  sea,  full  of  motion,  and 
light,  and  color,  and  showing  the  hurrying  shadows  of  the  flying 
clouds. 

At  last,  far  away,  secluded  and  quiet,  they  came  to  a  quaint 
little  inn,  placed  high  over  the  sea,  and  surrounded  by  sheltering 
woods  and  hedges.  The  sun  lay  warm  on  the  smooth,  green 
lawn  in  front,  where  the  daisies  grew.  There  were  dark  shadows 
— almost  black  shadows — along  the  encircling  hedge  and  under 
the  cedars;  but  these  only  showed  the  more  brilliantly  the  silver 
lighting  of  the  restless,  whirling,  wind-swept  sea  beyond.  It  was 
a  picturesque  little  house,  with  its  long  veranda  half  smothered 
in  ivy  and  rose-bushes  now  in  bud  ;  with  its  tangled  garden  about, 
green  with  young  hawthorn  and  sweetened  by  the  perfume  of  the 
lilacs ;  with  its  patches  of  uncut  grass,  where  the  yellow  cowslips 
drooped.  There  was  an  air  of  dreamy  repose  about  the  place ; 
even  that  whirling  and  silvery-gray  sea  produced  no  sound ;  here 
the  winds  were  stilled,  and  the  black  shadows  of  the  trees  on  that 
smooth,  green  lawn  only  moved  with  the  imperceptible  moving 
of  the  sun. 

Violet  went  up-stairs  and  into  her  room  alone  ;  she  threw  open 
the  small  casements,  and  stood  there,  looking  out  with  a  some- 
what vague  and  distant  look.  There  was  no  mischief  now  in 
those  dark  and  tender  eyes ;  there  was  rather  an  anxious  and 
wistful  questioning.  And  her  heart  seemed  to  go  out  from  her 
to  implore  these  gentle  winds,  and  the  soft  colors  of  the  sea,  and 
the  dreamy  stillness  of  the  woods,  that  now  they  should,  if  ever 
that  was  possible  to  them,  bring  all  their  sweet  and  curative  in- 
fluences to  bear  on  him  who  had  come  among  them.  Now,  if 
ever !  Surely  the  favorable  skies  would  heed,  and  the  secret  heal- 
ing of  the  woods  would  hear,  and  the  bountiful  life-giving  sea- 
winds  would  bestir  to  her  prayer! — surely  it  was  not  too  late ! 

18* 


418  MADCAP  VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

hope's  wings. 

The  long  journey  had  taxed  his  returning  strength  to  the  ut- 
most, and  for  the  remainder  of  that  day  he  looked  worn  and  fa- 
tigued; but  on  the  next  morning  he  was  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
and  nothing  would  do  but  that  they  should  at  once  set  out  on 
their  explorations. 

"  Why  not  rest  here  ?"  said  Violet. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  shade  of  their  morning  room,  the 
French  windows  wide  open,  the  pillars  and  roof  of  the  veranda 
outside  framing  in  a  picture  of  glowing  sunlight  and  green  vege- 
tation, with  glimpses  of  the  silvery,  white  sea  beyond. 

"Why  not  rest  here?"  she  said.  "What  is  the  use  of  driving 
about  to  see  bare  downs,  and  little  holes  in  the  mud  that  they  call 
chasms,  and  water-falls  that  are  turned  on  from  the  kitchen  of  the 
hotel  above?  That  is  what  they  consider  scenery  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight ;  and  then,  before  you  can  see  it,  you  must  buy  a  glass 
brooch  or  a  china  doll." 

The  fact  is,  he  did  not  himself  particularly  care  about  these 
excursions,  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  place  becoming  tiresome  and 
monotonous  to  one  whom  he  would  insist  on  regarding  as  a  vis- 
itor. She,  on  the  other  hand,  affected  a  profound  contempt  for 
the  sufficiently  pleasant  places  about  the  Isle  of  Wight  for  the 
very  purpose  of  inducing  him  to  rest  in  the  still  seclusion  of  this 
retreat  they  had  chosen.     But  here  was  the  carriage  at  the  door. 

"Violet,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  as  they  wTere  leisurely  driving 
along  the  quiet  ways,  under  the  crumbling  gray  cliffs,  where  the 
jackdaws  were  flying,  "  where  shall  we  go  for  a  climb  ?  Don't 
you  think  we  might  come  upon  another  Mount  Glorioso  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  rather  absently ;  "  I  don't  think  we  shall 
see  another  Mount  Glorioso  soon  again." 

"Not  this  autumn?"  cried  Mr.  Drummond,  cheerfully;  "not 
this  summer? — for  why  should  we  wait  for  the  autumn  ?  Violet, 
I  have  the  most  serious  projects  with  regard  to  the  whole  of  us. 


hope's  wings.  419 

It  is  high  time  that  I  set  about  recognizing  the  ends  of  existence ; 
that  is  to  say,  before  I  die  I  must  have  a  house  in  Bayswater  and 
two  thousand  a  year.  All  nice  novels  end  that  way.  Now,  in 
order  that  we  shall  all  reach  this  earthly  paradise,  what  is  to  be 
done?  I  have  two  projects.  A  publisher — the  first  wise  man  of 
his  race — I  will  write  an  epitaph  for  him  quite  different  from  my 
universal  epitaph — this  shrewd  and  crafty  person,  determined  to 
rescue  at  least  one  mute,  inglorious  Milton  from  neglect,  has  writ- 
ten to  me.  There  !  He  has  read  my  article  on  "  The  Astronom- 
ical Theory  with  Regard  to  the  Early  Religions  ;"  he  has  perceived 
the  profound  wisdom,  the  research,  the  illuminating  genius  of  that 
work — by-the-way,  I  don't  think  I  ever  fully  explained  to  you  my 
notions  on  that  subject  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  please  don't !"  said  Violet,  meekly.  "  What  does  the 
publisher  say?" 

"  Do  you  see  the  mean,  practical,  commercial  spirit  of  these 
women  ?"  he  said,  apparently  addressing  himself ;  "  it  is  only  the 
money  they  think  of.     They  don't  want  to  be  instructed !" 

"  I  know  the  article  well  enough,"  said  Violet,  blushing  hotly  ; 
"  I  read  it — I — I  saw  it  advertised,  and  bought  the  review,  when 
I  hadn't  much  money  to  spend  on  such  things." 

"  Did  you,  Violet  ?"  said  he,  forgetting  for  a  moment  his  non- 
sense. Then  he  continued:  "The  publisher  thinks  that  with 
some  padding  of  a  general  and  attractive  nature,  the  subject  might 
be  made  into  a  book.  Why,  therefore,  should  not  our  fortune 
be  made  at  once,  and  the  gates  of  Bayswater  thrown  open  to  the 
Peri?  I  do  believe  I  could  make  an  interesting  book.  I  will 
throw  in  a  lot  of  Irish  anecdotes.  I  wonder  if  I  could  have  it  il- 
lustrated with  pictures  of  '  Charles  the  First  in  Prison,'  the  '  Dy- 
ing Infant,'  '  The  Sailor's  Adieu,'  and  some  such  popular  things !" 

"  I  think,"  said  Violet,  humbly,  "  we  might  go  on  to  the  other 
project." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  thoughtfully,  "  that  requires  time  and  silence 
first.  I  must  have  the  inspiration  of  the  mountains  before  I  can 
resolve  it.     Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?" 

"  Not  yet." 

"  It  is  the  utilizing  of  a  great  natural  force.  That  is  what  all 
science  is  trying  to  do  now ;  and  here  is  one  of  the  mightiest 
forces  in  nature  of  which  nothing  is  made,  unless  it  be  that  a  few 
barges  get  floated  up  and  down  our  rivers.     Do  you  see?    The 


420  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

great  mass  of  tidal  force,  absolutely  irresistible  in  its  strength, 
punctual  as  the  clock  itself,  always  to  be  calculated  on,  why  should 
this  great  natural  engine  remain  unused  ?" 

"  But  then,  uncle,"  said  a  certain  young  lady,  "  if  you  made  the 
tide  drive  machinery  at  one  time  of  the  day,  you  would  have  to 
turn  the  house  round  to  let  it  drive  it  again  as  it  was  going  back." 

"  Child,  child  !"  said  the  inventor,  peevishly,  "  why  do  you  tack 
on  these  petty  details  to  my  grand  conception  ?  It  is  the  idea  I 
want  to  sell ;  other  people  can  use  it.  Now,  will  the  Government 
grant  me  a  patent  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Violet. 

"  "What  royalty  on  all  work  executed  by  utilizing  the  tidal  cur- 
rents ?" 

"A  million  per  cent." 

"  How  much  will  that  bring  in  ?" 

"  Three  millions  a  minute  ?" 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  sinking  back  with  a  sigh,  "  we  have  then  reach- 
ed the  goal  at  last.  Bayswater,  we  approach  you.  Shall  the 
brougham  be  bottle-green  or  coffee-colored?" 

"A  brougham  !"  cried  Violet;  "  no — a  barge  of  white  and  gold, 
with  crimson-satin  sails,  and  oars  of  bronze,  towed  by  a  company 
of  snow-white  swans — " 

"  Or  mergansers — " 

"And  floating  through  the  canals  of  claret  which  we  shall  set 
flowing  in  the  streets.  Then  the  Lord-mayor  and  the  Corpora- 
tion will  come  to  meet  you,  and  you  will  get  the  freedom  of  the 
City  presented  in  a  gold  snuff-box.  As  for  Buckingham  Palace 
— well,  a  baronetcy  would  be  a  nice  thing." 

"  A  baronetcy !  Three  millions  a  year  and  only  a  baronet ! 
By  the  monuments  of  Westminster  Abbey,  I  will  become  a  duke 
and  an  archbishop  rolled  into  one,  and  have  the  right  of  sending 
fifteen  people  a  day  to  be  beheaded  at  the  Tower !" 

"Oh,  not  that,  uncle!" 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Because  there  wouldn't  be  any  publishers  at  the  end  of  the 
year." 

"And  here  we  are  at  Black  Gang  Chine !" 

Violet  would  not  go  down.  She  positively  refused  to  go  down. 
She  called  the  place  Black  Gang  Sham,  and  hoped  they  were 
pouring  enough  water  down  the  kitchen -pipe   of  the  hotel  to 


hope's  wings.  421 

make  a  foaming  cataract.  But  she  begged  Mrs.  Warrcner  and 
Amy,  who  had  not  seen  the  place,  to  go  down,  while  she  remained 
in  the  carriage  with  Mr.  Drummond.  So  these  two  disappeared 
into  the  bazaar. 

"  You  are  not  really  going  to  Scotland,  are  you  ?"  she  said,  sim- 
ply, her  head  cast  down. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,"  he  answered ;  "  why  not  ?" 

"  The  air  here  is  very  sweet  and  soft,"  she  said,  in  a  hesitating 
way ;  "  of  course,  I  know  the  climate  on  the  west  coast  of  Scot- 
land is  very  mild,  and  you  would  get  the  mountain  air  as  well  as 
the  sea  air ;  but  don't  you  think  the  storms,  the  gales  that  blow 
in  the  spring — " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  I  shall  never  be  pulled  together  till 
I  get  up  to  the  North — I  know  that.  I  may  have  to  remain  here 
till  I  get  stronger,  but  by-and-by  I  hope  we  shall  all  go  up  to 
Scotland  together,  and  that  long  before  the  shooting  begins." 

"I  —  I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  "that  I  shall  not  be  of  the  par- 
ty."  ^ 

"  You  ?  Not  you  ?"  he  cried ;  "  you  are  not  going  to  leave  us, 
Violet,  just  after  we  have  found  you?" 

He  took  her  hand,  but  she  still  averted  her  eyes. 

"  I  half  promised,"  she  said,  "  to  spend  some  time  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Dowse.  They  are  very  lonely.  They  think  they  have 
a  claim  on  me,  and  they  have  been  very  kind." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dowse,  Violet,"  said  lie, 
promptly.  "I  pity  the  poor  people,  but  we  have  a  prior  claim 
on  you,  and  we  mean  to  insist  on  it.  What !  just  after  all  this 
grief  of  separation,  you  would  go  away  from  us  again  ?  No,  no ! 
I  tell  you,  Violet,  we  shall  never  find  you  your  real  self  until  you 
have  been  braced  up  by  the  sea-breezes.  I  mean  the  real  sea- 
breezes.  You  want  a  scamper  among  the  heather,  I  can  see  that; 
for  I  have  been  watching  you  of  late,  and  you  are  not  up  to  the 
right  mark.  The  sooner  we  all  go,  the  better.  Do  you  under- 
stand that  ?" 

lie  had  been  talking  lightly  and  cheerfully,  not  caring  who 
overheard.  She,  on  the  other  hand,  was  anxious  and  embarrassed, 
not  daring  to  utter  what  was  on  her  mind.     At  last  she  said, 

"  Will  you  get  down  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  walk  along  the 
road?     It  is  very  sheltered  here,  and  the  sun  is  warm." 

He  did  so,  and  she  took  his  arm,  and  they  walked  away  apart 


422  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

in  the  sunlight  and  silence.  When  they  had  gone  some  distance, 
she  stopped  and  said,  in  a  low  and  earnest  voice, 

"Don't  you  know  why  I  can  not  go  to  the  Highlands  with 
you  ?  It  would  kill  me.  How  could  I  go  back  to  all  those 
places  ?" 

"I  understand  that  well  enough, Violet,"  said  he,  gently;  "but 
don't  you  think  you  ought  to  go  for  the  very  purpose  of  con- 
quering that  feeling  ?  There  is  nothing  in  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try to  inspire  you  with  dread.  You  would  see  it  all  again  in  its 
accustomed  light." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  he,  for  he  was  determined  not  to  let 
these  gloomy  impressions  of  the  girl  overcome  him  ;  "  if  not  there, 
somewhere  else.  We  are  not  tied  to  Castle  Bandbox.  There 
is  plenty  of  space  about  the  West  Highlands,  or  about  the  Cen- 
tral Highlands,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Shall  we  try  to  get  some 
lodging  in  an  inn  or  farm-house  about  the  Moor  of  Rannoch? 
Or  will  you  try  the  islands — Jura,  or  Islay,  or  Mull  ?" 

She  did  not  answer;  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  dream. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  Violet,"  he  continued,  gravely  and  gently, 
"  why  I  want  you  to  come  with  us  ?  I  am  anxious  that  you  and 
I  should  be  together  as  long  —  as  long  as  that  is  possible.  One 
never  knows  what  may  happen,  and  lately  —  well,  we  need  not 
speak  of  it,  but  I  don't  wish  us  to  be  parted,  Violet." 

She  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  crying  and  sobbing.  She  had 
been  struggling  bravely  to  repress  this  gathering  emotion ;  but 
his  direct  reference  to  the  very  thought  that  was  overshadowing 
her  mind  was  too  much  for  her.  And  along  with  this  wild  grief 
came  as  keen  remorse,  for  was  this  the  conduct  required  of  an 
attendant  upon  an  invalid  ? 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  don't  know  what  it 
is :  I  have  been  very  nervous  of  late — and — and — " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  cry  about,  Violet,"  said  he,  gently ; 
"what  is  to  be,  is  to  be.  You  have  not  lost  your  old  courage? 
Only  let  us  be  together  while  we  can." 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love !"  she  suddenly  cried,  taking  his  hand 
in  both  of  hers,  and  looking  up  to  him  with  her  piteous,  tear- 
dimmed  eyes,  "  we  will  always  be  together !  What  is  it  that  you 
say  ?  What  is  it  that  you  mean  ?  Not  that  you  are  going  away 
without  me?     I  have  courage  for  any  thing  but  that.     It  does 


hope's  wings.  423 

not  matter  what  comes,  only  that  I  must  go  with  yon — we  two 
together  I" 

"  Hush,  hush,  Violet !"  said  he,  soothingly,  for  he  saw  that  the 
girl  was  really  beside  herself  with  grief  and  apprehension.  "  Come, 
this  is  not  like  the  brave  Violet  of  old.  I  thought  there  was  noth- 
ing in  all  the  world  you  were  afraid  to  face.     Look  up,  now." 

She  released  his  hand,  and  a  strange  expression  came  over  her 
face.  That  wild  outburst  had  been  an  involuntary  confession ; 
now  a  great  fear  and  shame  filled  her  heart  that  she  should  have 
been  betrayed  into  it,  and  in  a  despairing,  pathetic  fashion  she 
tried  to  explain  away  her  words. 

"  We  shall  be  together,  shall  we  not  ?"  she  said,  with  an  affect- 
ed cheerfulness,  though  she  was  still  crying  gently.  "  It  does 
not  matter  what  part  of  the  Highlands  you  go  to — I  will  go  with 
you.  I  must  write  and  explain  to  Mrs.  Dowse.  It  would  be  a 
pity  that  we  should  separate  so  soon,  after  that  long  time,  would 
it  not  ?  And  then  the  brisk  air  of  the  hills,  and  of  the  yachting, 
will  be  better  for  you  than  the  hot  summer  here,  won't  it  ?  And 
I  am  sure  you  will  get  very  well  there ;  that  is  just  the  place  for 
you  to  get  strong ;  and  when  the  time  for  the  shooting  comes,  we 
shall  all  go  out,  as  we  used  to  do,  to  see  you  missing  every  bird 
that  gets  up." 

She  tried  to  smile,  but  did  not  succeed  very  well. 

"  And  really  it  does  not  matter  to  me  so  very  much  what  part 
we  go  to,  for,  as  you  say,  one  ought  to  conquer  these  feelings ; 
and  if  you  prefer  Castle  Bandbox,  I  will  go  there,  too — that  is,  I 
shall  be  very  proud  to  go  if  I  am  not  in  the  way.  And  you  know 
I  am  the  only  one  who  can  make  cartridges  for  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  trouble  the  cartridges  very  much,"  said 
he,  glad  to  think  she  was  becoming  more  cheerful. 

"  Indeed,"  she  continued,  "  I  don't  know  what  would  have  be- 
come of  your  gun  if  I  had  not  looked  after  it,  for  you  only  half 
cleaned  it,  and  old  Peter  would  not  touch  it,  and  the  way  the  sea 
air  rusted  the  barrels  was  quite  remarkable.  Will  you  have  No.  3 
or  No.  4  shot  this  year  for  the  sea-birds  ?" 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "  you  see  we  shall  have  no  yacht 
this  year,  and  probably  no  chances  of  wild  duck  at  all ;  and  it 
would  scarcely  be  worth  while  to  make  cartridges  merely  to  fire 
away  at  these  harmless  and  useless  sea-pyots  and  things  of  that 
sort." 


424  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  but  my  papa  could  easily  get  us  a  yacht,"  she  said, 
promptly  ;  "  he  would  be  delighted — I  know  he  would  be  delight- 
ed. And  I  have  been  told  you  can  get  a  small  }7acht  for  about 
forty  pounds  a  month,  crew  and  every  thing  included,  and  what 
is  that  ?  Indeed,  I  think  it  is  quite  necessary  you  should  have  a 
yacht." 

"  Forty  pounds,"  said  he  ;  "  I  think  we  could  manage  that.  But 
then  we  should  deduct  something  from  the  wages  of  the  crew  on 
the  strength  of  our  taking  our  own  cook  with  us.  Do  you  re- 
member that  cook?  She  had  a  wonderful  trick  of  making  apri- 
cot-jam puddings :  how  the  dickens  she  managed  to  get  so  much 
jam  crammed  in  I  never  could  make  out.  She  was  just  about  as 
good  at  that  as  at  making  cartridges.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  that 
cook?" 

By  this  time  they  had  walked  gently  back  to  the  carriage,  and 
now  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter  made  their  appearance.  The 
elder  woman  noticed  something  strange  about  Violet's  expression, 
but  she  did  not  speak  of  it,  for  surely  the  girl  was  happy  enough  ? 
She  was,  indeed,  quite  merry.  She  told  Mrs.  Warrener  she  was 
ready  to  go  with  them  to  the  Highlands  whenever  they  chose. 
She  proposed  that  this  time  they  should  go  up  the  Caledonian 
Canal,  and  go  down  by  Loch  Maree,  and  then  go  out  and  visit 
the  western  isles.  She  said  the  sooner  they  went,  the  better  ;  they 
would  get  all  the  beautiful  summer  of  the  North  ;  it  was  only  the 
autumn  tourists  who  complained  of  the  rain  of  the  Highlands. 

"  But  we  had  little  rain  last  autumn,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  Oh,  very  little  indeed,"  said  Violet,  quite  brightly  ;  "  we  had 
charming  weather  all  through.  I  never  enjoyed  myself  anywhere 
so  much.  I  think  the  sooner  your  brother  gets  up  to  the  High- 
lands, the  better ;  it  will  do  him  a  world  of  good." 


DU    SCHMERZENSREICHE  J  425 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

DU    SCHMERZENSREICHE  ! 

So  the  long,  silent,  sunlit  days  passed,  and  it  seemed  to  the 
three  patient  watchers  that  the  object  of  their  care  was  slowly  re- 
covering health  and  strength.  But  if  they  were  all  willing  and 
eager  to  wait  on  him,  it  was  Violet  who  was  his  constant  compan- 
ion and  friend,  his  devoted  attendant,  his  humble  scholar.  Some- 
times when  Mrs.  Warrener's  heart  grew  sore  within  her  to  think 
of  the  wrong  that  had  been  wrought  in  the  past,  the  tender  little 
woman  tried  to  solace  herself  somewhat  by  regarding  these  two 
as  they  now  sat  together — he  the  whimsical,  affectionate,  playful, 
and  kindly  master,  she  the  meek  pupil  and  disciple,  forgetting 
all  the  proud  dignity  of  her  maidenhood,  her  fire,  and  audacity, 
and  independence,  in  the  humility  and  self-surrender  of  her  love. 
Surely,  she  thought,  this  time  was  making  up  for  much  of  the 
past.  And  if  all  went  well  now,  what  had  they  to  look  forward 
to  but  a  still  closer  companionship  in  which  the  proud  and  loyal 
and  fearless  girl  would  become  the  tender  and  obedient  wife  ? 
There  was  no  jealousy  in  the  nature  of  this  woman.  She  would 
have  laughed  with  joy  if  she  could  have  heard  their  marriage- 
bells. 

And  Violet,  too,  when  the  sun  lay  warm  on  the  daisies  and 
cowslips,  when  the  sweet  winds  blew  the  scent  of  the  lilacs  about, 
and  when  her  master  and  teacher  grew  strong  enough  to  walk 
with  her  along  the  quiet  woodland  ways,  how  could  she  fail  to 
pick  up  some  measure  of  cheerfulness  and  hope  ?  It  almost  seem- 
ed as  if  she  had  dropped  into  a  new  world ;  and  it  was  a  beauti- 
ful world,  full  of  tenderness,  and  laughter,  and  sunshine.  Hence- 
forth there  was  to  be  no  more  George  Miller  to  bother  her ;  he 
had  gone  clean  out  of  existence,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned ; 
there  was  no  more  skirmishing  with  Lady  North;  even  the  poor 
Dowses,  with  their  piteous  loneliness  and  solemn  house,  were  al- 
most forgotten.  Here  was  her  whole  world.  And  when  she  no- 
ticed the  increasing  distances  that  he  walked,  and  the  brighter 


426  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

look  of  his  face,  and  the  growing  courage  and  carelessness  of  his 
habits,  then,  indeed,  the  world  became  a  beautiful  world  to  her, 
and  she  was  almost  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  those  whirling 
and  gleaming  southern  seas. 

It  was  in  the  black  night-time,  when  all  the  household  but  her- 
self were  asleep,  that  she  paid  the  penalty  of  these  transient  joys. 
Haunted  by  the  one  terrible  fear,  she  could  gain  no  rest;  it  was 
in  vain  that  she  tried  to  reason  with  herself ;  her  imagination  was 
like  some  hideous  fiend  continually  whispering  to  her  ear.  Then 
she  had  no  friend  with  whom  to  share  those  terrible  doubts ;  she 
dared  not  mention  them  to  any  human  soul.  Why  should  she 
disturb  the  gentle  confidence  of  his  sister  and  her  daughter?  She 
could  not  make  them  miserable  merely  to  lift  from  her  own  mind 
a  portion  of  its  anxiety.  She  could  only  lie  awake,  night  after 
night,  and  rack  her  brain  with  a  thousand  gloomy  forebodings. 
She  recalled  certain  phrases  he  had  used  in  moments  of  pathetic 
confidence.  She  recalled  the  quick  look  of  pain  with  which  he 
sometimes  paused  in  the  middle  of  his  speech,  the  almost  involun- 
tary raising  the  hand  to  the  region  of  the  heart,  the  passing  pal- 
lor of  the  face.  Had  they  seen  none  of  those  things  ?  Had  they 
no  wild,  despairing  thoughts  about  them  ?  Was  it  possible  they 
could  go  peacefully  to  sleep  with  this  dread  thing  hanging  over 
them,  with  a  chance  of  awaking  to  a  day  of  bitter  anguish  and 
wild,  heart-broken  farewell  ?  This  cruel  anxiety,  kept  all  to  her- 
self, was  killing  the  girl.  She  grew  restless  and  feverish ;  some- 
times she  sat  up  half  the  night  at  the  window  listening  to  the 
moaning  of  the  dark  sea  outside :  she  became  languid  during  the 
day,  pale,  and  distraite.     But  it  was  not  to  last  long. 

One  evening  these  two  were  together  in  the  small  parlor,  he 
lying  down,  she  sitting  near  him  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  The 
French  windows  were  open ;  they  could  hear  Mrs.  Warrener  and 
her  daughter  talking  in  the  garden.  And,  strangely  enough,  the 
sick  man's  thoughts  were  once  more  turned  to  the  far  Highlands, 
and  to  their  life  among  the  hills,  and  the  pleasant  merry-making 
on  board  the  Sea-Pyot. 

"  The  air  of  this  place  does  not  agree  with  you  at  all,  Violet," 
he  was  saying.  "  You  are  not  looking  nearly  so  well  as  you  did 
when  we  came  down.  You  are  the  only  one  who  has  not  bene- 
fited by  the  change.  Now  that  won't  do  ;  we  can  not  have  a  suc- 
cession of  invalids — a  Greek  frieze  of  patients,  all  carrying  phials 


DU    SCHMERZENSREICHE  !  427 

of  medicine.  We  must  get  off  to  the  Highlands  at  once.  What 
do  you  say — a  fortnight  hence  ?" 

She  knelt  down  beside  him  and  took  his  hand,  and  said,  in  a 
low  voice, 

"  Do  not  he  angry  with  me — it  is  very  unreasonable,  I  know — 
but  I  have  a  strange  dread  of  the  Highlands.  I  have  dreamed  so 
often  lately  of  being  up  there — and  of  being  swept  away  on  a 
dark  sea — in  the  middle  of  the  night." 

She  shuddered.     He  put  his  hand  gently  on  her  head. 

"  There  is  no  wonder  you  should  dream  of  that,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile.  "  That  is  only  part  of  the  story  which  you  made  us  all 
believe.  But  we  have  got  a  brighter  finish  for  it  now.  You 
have  not  been  overwhelmed  in  that  dark  flood  yet — " 

He  paused. 

"  Violet ! — my  love  !"  he  suddenly  cried. 

He  let  go  her  hand,  and  made  a  wild  grasp  at  his  left  breast ; 
his  face  grew  white  with  pain.  What  made  her  instinctively 
throw  her  arms  round  him,  with  terror  in  her  eyes  ? 

"  Violet — what  is  this  ? — kiss  me  !" 

It  was  but  one  second  after  that  that  a  piercing  shriek  rang 
through  the  place.  The  girl  had  sprung  up  like  a  deer  shot 
through  the  heart;  her  eyes  dilated,  her  face  wild  and  pale. 
Mrs.  Warrener  came  running  in  ;  but  paused,  and  almost  retreat- 
ed in  fear  from  the  awful  spectacle  before  her ;  for  the  girl  still 
held  the  dead  man's  hand,  and  she  was  laughing  merrily.  The 
dark  sea  that  she  had  dreaded  had  overtaken  her  at  last. 

But  one  more  scene — months  afterward.  It  is  the  breakfast- 
room  in  Lady  North's  house  in  Euston  Square,  and  Anatolia  is 
sitting  there  alone.  The  door  opens,  and  a  tall  young  girl, 
dressed  in  a  white  morning  costume,  comes  silently  in :  there  is 
a  strange  and  piteous  look  of  trouble  in  her  dark  eyes.  Anatolia 
goes  over  to  her,  and  takes  her  hand  very  tenderly,  and  leads  her 
to  the  easy -chair  she  had  herself  just  quitted. 

"  There  is  not  any  letter  yet  ?"  she  asks,  having  looked  all 
round  the  table  with  a  sad  and  wearied  air. 

"  No,  d«ar,  not  yet,"  says  Anatolia,  who,  unlovely  though  she 
may  be,  has  a  sympathetic  heart ;  and  her  lip  trembles  as  she 
speaks.     "  You  must  be  patient,  Violet." 

"  It  is  another  morning  gone,  and  there  is  no  letter,  and  I  can 


428  MADCAP   VIOLET. 

not  understand  it,"  says  the  girl,  apparently  to  herself ;  and  then 
she  begins  to  cry  silently,  while  her  half-sister  goes  to  her,  and 
puts  her  arm  round  her  neck,  and  tries  to  soothe  her. 

Lady  North  comes  into  the  room.  Some  changes  have  hap- 
pened within  these  few  months  ;  it  is  "  Mother  "  and  "  My  child  " 
now  between  the  enemies  of  yore.  And  as  she  bids  Violet  good- 
morning,  and  gently  kisses  her,  the  girl  renews  her  complaint. 

"  Mother,  why  do  they  keep  back  his  letter  ?  I  know  he  must 
have  written  to  me  long  ago ;  and  I  can  not  go  to  him  until  I  get 
the  letter !  and  he  will  wonder  why  I  am  not  coming.  Morning 
after  morning  I  listen  for  the  postman  —  I  can  hear  him  in  the 
street — from  house  to  house — and  they  all  get  their  letters,  but 
I  don't  get  this  one,  that  is  worth  all  the  world  to  me.  And  I 
never  neglected  any  thing  that  he  said  —  and  I  was  always  very 
obedient  to  him — and  he  will  wonder  now  that  I  don't  go  to  him, 
and  perhaps  he  will  think  that  I  am  among  my  other  friends  now, 
and  have  forgotten —  No,  he  will  not  think  that.  I  have  not 
forgotten." 

"  My  child,  you  must  not  vex  yourself,"  says  Lady  North,  with 
all  the  tenderness  of  which  she  is  capable ;  and  Anatolia  is  bit- 
terly crying  all  the  while.  "  It  will  be  all  right.  And  you  must 
not  look  sad  to-day;  for  you  know  Mrs.  Warrener  and  your  friend 
Amy  are  coming  to  see  you." 

She  does  not  .seem  to  pay  much  heed. 

"  Shall  we  go  for  the  flowers  to-day  ?"  she  asks,  with  her  dark, 
wet  eyes  raised  for  the  first  time. 

"  My  darling,  this  is  not  the  day  we  go  for  the  flowers ;  that  is 
to-morrow." 

"And  what  is  the  use  of  it  ?"  she  says,  letting  her  head  sink 
sadly  again.  "  Every  time  I  go  over  to  Nunhead  I  listen — all  by 
myself  —  and  I  know  he  is  not  there  at  all.  The  flowers  look 
pretty,  because  his  name  is  over  them ;  but  he  is  not  there  at  all 
— he  is  far  away — and  he  was  to  send  me  a  message — and  every 
day  I  wait  for  it — and  they  keep  the  letter  back.  Mother,  are 
all  my  dresses  ready  ?" 

"  Yes,  Violet." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ?" 

"  They  are  all  ready,  Violet ;  don't  trouble  about  that." 

"  It  is  the  white  satin  one  he  will  like  the  best ;  and  he  will  be 
pleased  that  I  am  not  in  black,  like  the  others.      Mother,  Mrs. 


DU    SCHMERZENSREICHE  !  429 

Warrener  and  Amy  surely  can  not  mean  to  come  to  the  wedding 
in  black?" 

"  Surely  not,  Violet !     But  come,  dear,  to  your  breakfast." 
She  took  her  place  quite  calmly  and  humbly ;  but  her  mind 
was  still  wandering  toward  that  picture. 

"I  hope  they  will  strew  the  church -yard  with  flowers  as  we 
pass  through  it — not  for  me,  but  for  him,  for  he  will  be  pleased 
with  that ;  and  there  is  more  than  all  that  is  in  the  Prayer-book 
that  I  will  promise  to  be  to  him,  when  we  two  are  kneeling  to- 
gether. You  arc  quite  sure,  mother,  that  every  thing  is  ready  ?" 
"  Every  thing,  my  darling." 

"  And  you  think  the  message  from  him  will  come  soon  now  ?" 
"  I  think  it  will  come  soon  now,  Violet,"  was  the  answer,  given 
with  trembling  lips. 


And  now  to  you — you  whose  names  are  Avritten  in  these  blur- 
red pages,  some  portion  of  whose  lives  I  have  tried  to  trace  with 
a  wandering  and  uncertain  pen — I  stretch  out  a  hand  of  farewell. 
Yet  not  quite  of  farewell,  perhaps ;  for,  amidst  all  the  shapes  and 
phantoms  of  this  world  of  mystery,  where  the  shadows  we  meet 
can  tell  us  neither  whence  they  came  nor  whither  they  go,  surely 
you  have  for  me  a  no  less  substantial  existence  that  may  have 
its  chances  in  the  time  to  come.  To  me  3011  are  more  real  than 
most  I  know :  what  wonder,  then,  if  I  were  to  meet  you  on  the 
threshold  of  the  great  unknown,  you  all  shining  with  a  new  light 
on  your  face?  Trembling,  I  stretch  out  my  hands  to  you,  for 
your  silence  is  awful,  and  there  is  sadness  in  your  eyes ;  but  the 
day  may  come  when  you  will  speak,  and  I  shall  hear — and  under- 
stand. 


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DRAPER'S  AMERICAN  CIVIL  POLICY.  Thoughts  on  the  Future  Civil  Policy 
of  America.  By  John  W.  Drater,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and 
Physiology  in  the  University  of  New  York.    Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

DRAPER'S  CIVIL  WAR.  History  of  the  American  Civil  Wrar.  By  John  W. 
Draper,  M.D.,  LL.D.  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $10  50;  Sheep, 
$12  00;  Half  Calf,  $17  25. 

DRAPER'S  INTELLECTUAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  EUROPE.  A  History  of 
the  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe.  By  John  W.  Draper,  M.D.,  LL.D. 
New  Edition,  Revised.    2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  AFRICA.  Explorations  and  Adventures  in  Equatorial  Africa ; 
with  Accounts  of  the  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  People,  and  of  the  Chase 
of  the  Gorilla,  the  Crocodile,  Leopard,  Elephant,  Hippopotamus,  and  other 
Animals.     By  Paul  B.  Du  Chaii.ll-.     Illustrated.     Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  ASHANGO  LAND.  A  Journey  to  Ashango  Land:  and  Further 
Penetration  into  Equatorial  Africa.  By  Paul  B.  Dc  Chaillu.  Illustrated. 
Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

FLAMMARION'S  ATMOSPHERE.  The  Atmosphere.  Translated  from  the 
French  of  Camii.lk  Flammarion.  Edited  by  James  Glaisher,  F.R.S.,  Su- 
perintendent of  the  Magnetical  and  Meteorological  Department  of  the  Royal 
Observatory  at  Greenwich.  With  10  Chromo-Lithographs  and  86  Woodcuts. 
Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 


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